


Defender of Nowhere

by The_True_Phoenix_King



Series: Defender of Nowhere and Everywhere (also Art) [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Dimension Travel, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_True_Phoenix_King/pseuds/The_True_Phoenix_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Names. Funny things aren't they? My name was once Jason. It was also, in another world entirely, Caledor. I do not believe myself to be special and truly I was once as inconsequential as a gnat. Those blissful days are, sadly, over.</p><p>Spoilers: Dragon Age and Warhammer (kind of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back!
> 
> This took alot longer than planned, life punched me in the face, kidnapped me then buried me alive :) This is the first chapter of the new and revised Defender of Nowhere. The plot has changed significantly and I'm working on the next few chapters right now. No guarantees on when they will be done but I'm hopeful. Hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

_**Names. Funny things aren't they? My name was once Jason. It was also, in another world entirely, Caledor. I do not believe myself to be special and truly I was once as inconsequential as a gnat. Those blissful days are, sadly, over.** _

The last king of a dying world sat upon his throne, his sword resting to the side within the range of his grasp. The great vaulted hall he dwelt in had been cleared some millennia ago of the piles of corpses which had lain arranged in some dark parody of the life which had once graced it. The king sat, as straight backed and still as he had been for seventeen millennia, and pondered his loss and the terrible weight of grief which hung over him still. It was at this moment that a strange blue light began to crackle around him. The King knew and hated this energy, hated the memories it brought tumbling back into his tortured and tired mind, hated that it would interrupt his grief. He drew his blade and slashed at it with shocking speed.

“Have you not taken enough from me!” he screamed into the silence, voice raw from disuse. “Have I not given enough? Do I not deserve peace? Even if it is without her” he choked back a sob at the thought. If the energy around him understood or cared it showed no sign, instead swirling ever faster and more brilliantly until in one bright burst it was gone, the king with it, and silence once again enveloped a now truly empty world.

. . . . .

The Knight-Captain was surprised, to say the least, when the dalish traveller his party had been harassing suddenly transformed in front of him. His slight but well muscled frame grew in height and build until he was taller than any human, his face became more defined and his hair became long and lustrous, changing from a light auburn to deepest black. His armour, which had been standard dalish fare, was replaced by alien looking plate over strange robes. After a moment of confusion the elf locked eyes and glowered at them, haughty arrogance and rage in his every facet. The Knight-Captain’s men had taken a step back from the slightly glowing apparition and, looking down, he found that he had too. This was getting out of hand, no fucking _knife ear_ was going to glower at _him_. The magic didn't even matter anymore, not really.

He turned to his men and shouted, "Come on boys, let's end another one of these maker-forsaken swine before we see what that conclave thing is" The elf chuckled as the Captain mentioned the damned conclave, sounding quite deranged as he muttered about something called ‘foreshadowing'.

. . . . .

After the king wiped his blade clean of the blood he gently incinerated the corpses before him, transfixed by the distinctive templar armor melting and vaporising in the unnatural heat. He tried to stay calm, the sheer amount of _noise_ in this living and breathing world threatened to overwhelm him. He forced himself to be calm just as the memories that were not his hit him, like a thunderclap to his brain.

 _He is in his home, Clan Lavellan, just learning to walk..._ BLINK _...He is a youth playing with his friends, replaying the famous battles of old with swords of wood and armor of imagination..._ BLINK _...He chooses a name, Amelan. His keeper doesn't know what the word means but he had seen it written in her books and demanded it be his..._ BLINK _...He is defending his clan from murderous shems, swinging his Greatsword with the blinding speed and grace his friends and keeper admire..._ BLINK _...He is surrounded by smiling friends. They are hugging him, telling him “good luck’”. He hefts his familiar sword and heads off to this shem conclave to, as his keeper puts it, ‘perform careful reconnaissance’. He doesn't know why she bothers, they both know she means spy..._ BLINK _...He is accosted by shem templars, they must be rogue. There is blinding pain and a fleeting glimpse of a strange and alien place with moving metal things gliding around and a tall flat-ear looking at him curiously._

Blinding light welcomes the king as he recovers from the memories slamming into his brain, slotting themselves in and becoming a part of him. He closes his eyes, trying to remember his name, fighting to sort through the titles he had worn in his long life. He was not the ‘Defender', nor was he ‘Dragontamer’ although these were certainly a part of him. He had not been Jason for such an unfathomable amount of time he could barely remember that life until he concentrated on it. He was no longer truly Caledor, that name had died with Astarielle. No, he was something else now, something new. New and tired and alone, with nothing to defend. His mind flits back to the name of the elf whose place he had taken, Amelan. The child had not known its meaning, had not understood the language of his people enough, but the king knew the word from his relatively short life as Jason and it struck a chord deep within his very being. Amelan. Protector, Guardian, _Defender_. It all snapped into place, he knew what he would do.

Amelan's eyes snapped open, burning a bright green. He rose to his full height and took a deep breath of the beautifully clean air, turning to the direction the Knight-Captain had motioned to when he spoke of the conclave. The mountains were beautiful and wild, covered in swirling untamed forests. He knew Astarielle would have fallen in love with them there and then. With a small sigh he set off into the swirling snow, he had a gathering to attend.


	2. Defender

**_It all started on a very uneventful day in Mid-October at my house in England. I was (as usual) playing video games when a light began to swirl around me, I barely had time to exclaim my shock and amazement before my room vanished and I was somewhere else. No tunnel of swirling blue like in Doctor Who, nothing. Just at home one second and then…somewhere else._ **

Magic was very different here, that became plainly apparent to Amelan as he moved at a steady pace towards the conclave. Upon his own world magic had simply _been_ , here it was locked away behind a veil, requiring him to pierce it in order to access his power. Perhaps that was for the best, considering what had happened to his world. His thoughts turned dark as his mind drifted perilously close to the swirling vortex of grief and rage locked within him. He scolded himself, he had to keep better control of his thoughts or he would end up setting fire to himself again.

Amelan’s ears pricked up at the sound of screaming followed by cackling laughter in the near distance, the first voices he had heard in hours. He sprinted towards the sound, drawing his blade and activating his armour causing green runes to light up all around it as he willed his sword into a spear. It obliged swiftly, it’s hilt lengthening until it was longer than he and the blade shortening slightly, its length coated in billowing green flame. The sight that met him as he turned a corner twisted his stomach; a young elven woman with hair the colour of spun gold, likely no more than twenty years old, was being restrained by several dozen mages as they set fire to a house. Considering the screams coming from the wooden cottage it was likely that others were still inside, it seemed that the templars were certainly not the only ones to have gone too far in this war. A scream of rage tore from Amelan’s lips as he faded in and out of reality as he ran, each time he reappeared he was several feet further forward, his momentum growing exponentially until his spear slammed into the leader of the group, came out the other side and impaled a second mage, the flaming blade cauterising their wounds even as it made them. The mages looked at Amelan, shocked confusion still written on their faces as they slid from the blade. The others barely had time to register what had happened before Amelan was upon them, swinging and twirling the spear with a grace unmatched as he cut them down without mercy. Within seconds the screams died down as the last mages fell to the ferocious onslaught and Amelan wasted no time as he extinguished the flaming cottage and moved to comfort the cowering woman, dropping his spear and moving slowly with his hands raised before him.

“Atisha, da’asha.” He said, as calmly as he could muster through the barely cooling rage, remembering the elven language of this world from his time as Jason. Back then he had thought it entertaining to become fluent in an imaginary language but now here he was using it in an attempt to comfort a beautiful young elven woman.

“W-what?” she stammered, wide eyes staring at him in disbelief. He stared at those eyes, they were of a green he had not seen the like of in a very long time.

“It means be at peace. Are others in the house?”

“M-my mother, she was s-screaming.” Tears openly spill from her eyes as she likely imagined the implications of her mother screaming coupled with the fact that she had not yet emerged.

“Do not worry, I shall check on her and heal her if she is injured. Stay here for a time.” He had not meant for it to be an order but she stayed perfectly still as he moved towards the blackened door. He stopped when she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper.

“A-are you a mage?”

“Of a sort, da’asha. Of a sort.” He smiled at her sadly before entering the house.

As soon as he opened the door the smell of charred flesh caught his attention. He moved swiftly towards the huddled form of the girl’s mother. She was severely burned but appeared to still cling to life. He knelt down and poured healing magic into her, causing her blistered and blackened skin to slowly pull back together. As he finished his work he sensed the door open and the young woman came in. She swiftly moved to her mother’s prone form, tears flowing freely from her eyes as she likely assumed the worst.

“Mother?” It was barely a whisper, as though she were terrified she would receive verification of her fears.

“She will be fine, if a bit stiff.” The look she gave him was full of stunned disbelief. For the first time since he had met her she smiled, the action transformed her face and she appeared more beautiful than ever, if that was even possible. Amelan found himself wanting to see that smile on her face more often as her gaze drifted to his ears. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Are you an elf?! But you’re so tall! Are you Dalish?” Her fear of him appeared to have entirely vanished, replaced by a burning curiosity. The questions caused Amelan to snort with laughter, bringing back bittersweet memories of Astarielle’s endless questions about Jason’s world when they had first met.

“Yes, I am Elvhen. I am, indeed, quite tall and no, I am most certainly not Dalish.” He said, his eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Do you have a name?”

“Vunlea. My parents didn’t know what it meant but a passing Dalish clan gave me the name when I was little. I always thought it sounded pretty.” She said, blushing lightly, apparently thinking that she was babbling. He was surprised that a Dalish clan had actually interacted with and spoken elvhen - even their broken and misremembered elvhen - to people they would typically sneer at and call flat-ear. He smiled at her, she was correct in her opinion of her name.

“It is a beautiful name, da’asha. Vunlea means Sunlight, it suits you perfectly.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Vunlea's mother abruptly waking with a shocked gasp. “Vunlea!” The cry was filled with terror and worry as she looked around blearily before she found the objective of her search. “Oh, thank the creators! Are you hurt? Who is this?” The last question coming in a shocked gasp as she took in the strangely armoured elf kneeling beside her daughter.

“I am named Amelan, my lady. I heard your daughter’s distress and came to lend my aid. The attackers will not trouble you any longer, on that you have my word. Have you anywhere to go?” The woman looked at Amelan with the same expression of disbelief and wonder as her daughter had.

“We have nowhere to go. No-one will take us in with the war going on, they’ll think we’re mages hiding from the Templars.” Amelan nodded, he had suspected as much. After a moment of consideration, he came to a conclusion

“Well then. I am headed to the Conclave of Divine Justinia at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is not so far from here. You may find shelter there and are welcome to join me. You will likely be safer than if you remained alone.” It would be simple enough to have them remain at haven when the breach opened. When he became Herald he would be able to protect them properly.

“He’s a mage, mother!” Vunlea had started forward excitedly at his offer of protection. “He can tell me what my dreams mean!” The mother’s head snapped to her daughter, eyes widening in shock and terror.

“We have spoken of this; you are not to mention your dreams to anyone!” She looked absolutely terrified. Amelan moved to reassure her.

“I assure you miss…”

“Neria.”

“…Neria, I mean neither of you harm. If your daughter is a mage she will require teaching, of that there is no doubt. I can determine whether or not she has magical potential if you would like.” He raised his arms as she began to protest. “I assure you that I will not allow your daughter to be taken into a Circle. I swear by my life.” Neria looked desperately at her still adamant daughter. Finding no aid from that quarter she eyed Amelan apprehensively.

“You swear you will not take her to a Circle?”

“Yes. If she does indeed have latent ability, I can also teach her to control it.” She looked nervous as she glanced at her daughter.

“Is this what you want, Vunlea?”

“Yes, mother. I have to know.” Neria looked defeated, sunken. She waved at Amelan to proceed and sat on the floor, staring at her daughter with eyes full of worry. Amelan turned to Vunlea, moving slowly so as not to spook Neria.

“This will feel slightly odd. Are you ready?” She nodded. He moved his hands to ghost at either side of her head, releasing his aura to search her mind. In what seemed like seconds he found a massive pool of energy, not anywhere near his amount of power but certainly unusual in this world of neutered magic and castrated mages. He released Vunlea and took a second to reign his aura in. Neria looked at him, worry written across her features in an unspoken question.

“She is most certainly a mage. More powerful than any I have encountered save myself. She is likely a Somniari, able to manipulate the fade at will and exceptionally powerful.” Neria gasped even as Vunlea looked at Amelan in disbelief.

“I’m really a mage?” Her eyes were filled with a mixture of terror and not a small amount of hope.

“Yes, an extremely powerful one.” Seeing Neria move to speak he turned to her. “I assume you are now remembering the stories of Dreamers’ susceptibility to possession?” Neria’s mouth remained open in shock at his perception. “While those stories have a small kernel of truth in them I assure you that your daughter is in no more danger of being possessed then I. I shall teach her to control her power as we travel. It is likely imperative that you do join me now, I imagine it will be much safer for Vunlea at the Conclave.” Neria nodded in reluctant agreement.

It took only a few minutes for the two women to gather their unburnt possessions and join Amelan outside the cottage, who had retrieved his spear - now a sword again - and burned the bodies. Only looking back at the blackened cottage once, they followed Amelan as he walked towards the mountains in the near distance, Vunlea constantly asking questions about magic and Neria smiling nervously at her daughter’s enthusiasm.

. . . . .

The last several weeks of the journey to the Conclave were reasonably calm, they were attacked several times but Amelan dealt with the aggressors swiftly. Amelan spent much of the journey teaching Vunlea all that he knew of magic. Vunlea, for her part, was an exceptional student, her control grew exponentially and very soon she had a good grasp of most of the magical theory Amelan taught her, as well as mastering several low level spells. Such was the extent of her apparent brilliance that towards the end of the journey she began to aid Amelan when he fought the various attackers, her mentor taking her to the side after each fight and going over the fight blow by blow. Very soon she was competent enough to explore the fade on her own, though Amelan was always alert for trouble.

So it was that by the time they reached the Conclave Vunlea was already a particularly talented and knowledgeable mage in her own right and her mother was a great deal calmer about the situation, she was certainly more confident that her daughter wasn’t about to go and get herself possessed any time soon. Amelan set them up in a small house in Haven, using the large amount of money he had taken from all of their so called ‘robbers’ during the last legs of their journey. He sat them down and explained that he would be going up to the temple but it would probably be best for them to stay put for now. After the long journey Neria agreed immediately but Vunlea gave Amelan a suspicious look as he considered how to begin the next conversation. After he had saved Vunlea and her mother he had thought on how this world treated mages and had decided that he didn’t want anyone knowing he was an extremely powerful mage any time soon, preferably indefinitely. The people in this world would likely react poorly to power that could quite literally cause earthquakes.

“I must ask that neither of you mention to anyone that I am a mage, I have a great deal more power than is deemed possible in this age and they would likely not understand. I do not trust them not to react poorly.” Neria appeared to accept the logic of the request but again Vunlea looked suspicious before she agreed. _That girl is far too intelligent for her own good_ , thought Amelan as he made his way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It just so happened that the day of their arrival was the exact first day of the official negotiations, Amelan referred to this day in his mind as ‘The day the world gets blown up’.

It took remarkably little effort to enter the temple, the guards were pretty much letting anyone in. _No wonder Corypheus made it past security,_ mused Amelan as he searched for the Divine. As it turned out no one had seen her in around an hour. Amelan began to panic, if he didn’t find her in time Corypheus’ ritual would go ahead uninterrupted. Just as he began to lose hope Amelan heard an unmistakeable voice shouting for help coming from a room to his left. He burst through the door, trying to remember what should be said.

“What’s going on here?!” He shouted, hoping he got it right. Corypheus turned in his direction.

“We have an intruder. Kill the elf.” As the wardens surrounding the ‘elder one’ approached Amelan, Justinia knocked the Orb Corypheus was holding out of his hand. Amelan moved to grab it. The world flashed bright green and then went black as his hand touched the strange artefact and he was transported into the fade with a green mark on his hand.

Corypheus could swear he saw the usurping elf smile before he vanished into the ether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Vunlea = Sunlight  
> Da'asha = Little woman/Young lady  
> Atisha = Peace


	3. Mysterious Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still Alive! Well..kinda

_**I started this journal when I first arrived on this world, before it fell. If any yet live to read this, take this record. It contains in depth descriptions of basic survival methods for chaos infested lands, they can be found during the section on the taming of the Chaos Wastes. If survival is impossible, perhaps read it simply to honor an old elf who tried to save the world.** _

The fade was worryingly familiar. Even the floating otherworldly shards of rock in the sky would not have been out of place in Amelan’s world towards the end. As well as the scenic similarities to his chaos infested world, Amelan could finally feel his magic. All of it. He had forgotten quite what the sensation of limitless power felt like. He took a moment to wonder how his power had been transferred. Come to think of it, was he even still immortal? He didn’t feel any different but that was surely no guarantee. Still deep in thought Amelan ignored the Fear Demon attempting to remove his memories. Honestly he had expected a Demon of significantly greater strength to preside over the Blights, it was barely equal to a Greater Daemon of his world.

Taking in his bearings Amelan ported to the rift he remembered from the game, surprised at the memory’s vividness. One of the downsides to enduring for millennia was a fading of older memories, most of his experiences from his time as Jason were long gone. Ironic that he could barely remember his mother’s face and yet retained fluency in an imaginary language and in depth knowledge of a video game. When Amelan arrived at the rift the spirit impersonating Justinia beckoned at him to hurry, he gave her a nod of understanding and deactivated his armour and sword, wrapping his power around his core and dampening it. After a quick check that he could detect no magic and assuring himself the lock would endure if he was knocked unconscious he leapt through the rift, feeling a tearing sensation and plunging into a world of chaos and death.

. . . . .

  
Vunlea considered all that had happened in the previous few weeks. Her friends would have commented with derision on the affection and fear she had felt for her 'mother', despite knowing the woman barely four years. They wouldn’t have understood that Neria was simply the only person who hadn't attacked her since she woke up in this horrible world. Well, other than Amelan, her traitorous mind supplied, diverting her thoughts yet again to their enigmatic savior. He truly was a peculiarity, significantly taller and broader than any of the shadows with pointed ears she saw cowering in the corners of society. His face was handsome and regal, marred by a vicious scar that ran down the right side of his face. He was also extremely powerful, more so than any other she had seen in her life. And that was saying something, considering the family she came from.

She didn't really know why she had pretended she didn't know about her magic, it had simply become habit over the years. She hoped she hadn't overdone the 'damsel in distress' routine. Of course, once the subject was broached she had to pretend for Neria’s sake. In truth, she hadn't known how to breach the veil with enough precision in order to produce effective magic, so she hadn't _really_ lied. Of course then she had waited with trepidation for his 'teaching', expecting the tired old ramblings of some Circle mage. Instead she found that Amelan was an accomplished and skilled teacher, with knowledge even beyond Vunlea's extensive abilities.

Despite all of his peculiarities the thing she noticed most was that he didn't look at her like other men had. There was no sexuality in his gaze, he did not undress her with his eyes. Instead he looked at her like her father used to, in his brief moments of lucidity and kindness before the inevitable storms of madness. There were, however, oddities. Occasionally, when Amelan seemed particularly tired or distracted, he would glance at her and freeze, his eyes glazing over as he looked at her with confusion and unrestrained joy before it was replaced by and a deep, sorrowful yearning. Occasionally when they were talking he would call her by another name. Ellana. He would begin to excitedly explain something or other to this mysterious woman before snapping out of whatever memory he was unwittingly repeating. The expressions that flew across his face when he realised she was not this Ellana were heartbreaking.

She was still contemplating the strange man whilst practicing with veilfire when the Breach opened. One second Neria was across the room unpacking their paltry remaining clothing, then she was gone. Vunlea blinked in horror as half the little cottage they were in was destroyed by a flaming green projectile. Just as it dawned on her shocked mind that the woman who had cared for her these past years was likely dead, she saw that a monstrous demon was emerging from the wreckage. Vunlea obliterated the creature with a gesture before falling to her knees, a wordless scream ripping from her lips as she stared at the green flames slowly moving towards her from her Neria’s final resting place. It wasn’t fair. They had been through so much. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She barely registered the door to the cottage being slammed open and just stared blankly at the massive human who picked her up and carried her out into the snow.

“Are you alright? Was there anyone else in there with you?!” The shem shouted, his commanding voice barely making a dent in the din.

“There was. She's gone now.” Her voice was emotionless. Dead. It had been a while since she had lost someone. She didn’t really know what to do with the emotions. He nodded grimly and set off to another burning building.

As she gathered her wits she looked around her, taking in the chaos. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted an unremarkable seeming elf staring up at the Breach in horror. He looked familiar. When he turned his head slightly to reveal his features Vunlea stumbled back in shock. It couldn't be. She had seen the wanted posters, who hadn’t? It had been a very long time ago but her memory was clear. There was no mistaking that face, even if he had shaved his head. She had stared lovingly into those eyes for hours at a time, knowing that she wouldn't be able to openly join the rebellion but longing to right her parent's wrongs. But the rebellion had only been a nuisance back then, if she had joined it would have drawn the eye of her father. Instead she had tried to convince the people to change, becoming more and more confident with each changed mind and freed soul. She had been forced into exile to a distant temple by her father in an attempt to silence her by the time the rebellion grew into something great.

“Fen'harel” She whispered in awe. His head snapped to the side, as if he heard her. His storm grey eyes fixing on her green ones. A flash of recollection passed his face and he strode forward in her direction.

Fenedhis.

“I know you.” His voice was quiet but deadly. His eyes staring into hers, waiting for her to flinch.

Aaaaand he remembered her face. Fenhedis lasa.

“Do you?” she squeaked, absolutely terrified and not even attempting to hide it. She knew some would expect her to feel rage, finally confronting her parent’s betrayer and all that rot. To tell the truth, she just felt tired of hiding. She steadied herself and met the Dread Wolf's gaze. He smiled, showing sharp canines.

“And the little rabbit finds the strength to fight back I see.”

“I am not a rabbit!” She shouted the words defiantly without thinking. His smile just grew wider.

“No. Not a rabbit. A little ray of _Sunlight_.” He put extra emphasis in that fateful word at the end. He knew she would pick up on it and know that the game was up. He remembered her name. She lifted her chin defiantly, all meekness leaving her face.

“Very well Wolf. If I must die for their crimes, so be it. What is one more death in the face of what they did.” He seemed taken aback by the transformation. It took a moment for him to gather his wits.

“Why would I wish to kill you?”…not the transformation then?

“…Don't you?”

“Well, let me see if I recall it all correctly. While you were never in a position to openly support the rebellion you held several hundred committees on the abolition of slavery, gained more support for your ideals than even the rebellion had at that point and were subsequently forced into seclusion by your parents for your views. All before your sixteenth year. Why would I ever wish for your death. We actively sought to rescue you from your exile before Mythal's murder caused certain…complications.” Well...perhaps she had been slightly more rebellious than she had previously thought.

Their exchange was interrupted by several soldiers carrying the form of Amelan, his body crackling with the same violent green light as the Breach. And, come to think of it, his own magic.

Had it been him?

. . . . .

Amelan woke to blinding pain and emptiness. He had never experienced having his magic torn from him, it was not pleasant. His fevered mind barely registered the rantings and ravings of a short haired human, she did look familiar however. As did the quiet hooded one standing next to her.

This was going to be interesting.


	4. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelan is interrogated and re-lives some particularly unpleasant memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for how long this has taken. It's not particularly long but oh well. FYI Amelan relives some particularly painful and horrible memories here, they are not pleasant at all and I hope they shed some light into some of the things that made him what he is today. So...well, you've been warned. Enjoy the chapter. By the way all elvhen for this fic comes from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.

**Entry One: Day 7 - 460bc (Before Chaos)**   
_**It occurred to me that I should make records of my time here. One of my…no, Caledor's servants handed me an exquisite bound journal when I requested writing materials, he gave me a very odd look. I should probably start at the beginning. It has been six days since I arrived here and there appears to be no way to go home. My access to Caledor’s memories gives me some understanding of what had happened. It appears that I have quite literally taken Caledor’s place in this world. I have his memories and magical power and yet I have not taken on all of his physical qualities.** _

A commotion at the entrance distracted the humans attempting to interrogate Amelan. Soon they are joined by a bald elf being trailed by a vaguely terrified looking Vunlea.

“This woman claims to know him.” Amelan noticed Vunlea direct a barely perceptible glare at the bald elf. Solas, his mind offered. Cassandra addressed Vunlea.

“Is this true? Do you know the prisoner?”

“I met him around a month ago.”

“Do you know why he refuses to speak to us?” In truth he was just trying to get his story straight before he opened his mouth but he could hardly tell them that. Vunlea smirked.

“Probably because you have swords pointed at him. He doesn't like that much.”

“Does he speak common?”

“Yes” They all looked at him in surprise as he finally spoke up. Cassandra was about to begin shouting again before he raised his arms. “I know, I know. You want to know whether or not I sundered reality, yes? You want the truth? No. I did not do it. I am, however, fairly certain _what_ did it.” Solas visibly recoiled in shock at this and he barely held back a smirk. Amelan struggled to refrain from staring at Vunlea again, it had been quite hard for him over these past weeks. She was definitely hiding something; she was not somniari despite what he had told Neria, she was something more. Worse still was that she could have been Ellana’s sister. Her twin. Even the personalities were almost identical, so similar that he would sometimes find himself reverting, believing – if only for a second – that his beautiful daughter, the light of his entire existence, was still alive. And, despite himself, despite all of the promises he had made, he could feel himself beginning to care again. For these shadows that were barely even alive. He should not allow this, nothing good ever happened to the things he touched. To the people he loved. He was not certain if he could cope with another loss, another weight on an already overtaxed mind.

He was brought from his reverie by Cassandra attempting to strike him in the cheek. Suddenly he was in an entirely different dungeon. **Cold, blind fury filled him as he looked up at his captor. The elf scowled at him, distaste written on his face as he drew back for another attack. “Some Defender you are. Couldn’t even defend her, could you? Did you know I had her a couple times before I ended her miserable life? Yeah, like I was gonna let a tasty bitch like that go before I had a try. She just cried for her Daddy the whole time. Know that? So…where were you, eh? Where was Daddy?” The blow struck his cheek and he tasted blood.** The manacles snapped, their solid iron chains like dry paper to him as he grasped her wrist and _forced_ himself not to incinerate her. _I’m not there. I’m not there. I’m not there. He is dead. They’re all dead._ He had hoped that killing that bastard as slowly and painfully as he had done would somehow stop the terrible nightmares. Stop the suffocating feelings of guilt and grief whenever he thought of his family. But that would never stop. He looked up to find the Seeker looking at him in blank shock mixed with not a small amount of rage. Right. The manacles. He released her arm and raised his hands in the universal gesture for 'don’t stab me'. _Fenedhis_. How was he going to explain this?

. . . . .

Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast _really_ hated her middle names. But she was beginning to hate this damned elf even more. He was quite possibly even more infuriating than Varric. No. That was the rage talking, nothing was more irritating than that Dwarf. Although that had been before the elf had shattered his restraints and gripped her wrist with such strength she was certain it would break. She recognized the look in his face, had seen it in the eyes of battle worn veterans. This mysterious and dangerous man with a tear on his hand theoretically capable of saving the world. Who, considering the impressive and battle worn weaponry they had taken from him, was a fairly accomplished warrior. The most confusing thing by far had been the helmet they recovered from his rooms…well, more like some kind of _crown_. She decided that she’d had enough of the prisoner for now and turned to the woman Solas had brought in, rubbing the swiftly appearing bruise on her arm.

“Are there any who can corroborate your story?” It was not the girl, but Solas who answered.

“No. The only other witness, her mother, died when the Breach opened.” Now _that_ got a reaction out of the prisoner. He let out a sound of disbelief, his hands clenching into fists. His head snapped to meet the girl’s curiously blank gaze, such fury in his eyes that Cassandra thought she could see phantoms of cold fire in them. She nearly missed when he next spoke, for it was in a whisper and directed at the girl.

“I will find who did this, Vunlea. I will find them and they will _burn_.” Such was the emotion in his voice that Cassandra began to wonder whether he could actually be innocent after all.

. . . . .

It was all his fault. Just more proof that all he touched died. He had _chosen_ to take them with him. Had caused more death than was necessary in his arrogance, in his pride, in the assumption that Haven would be safe. He held back the tides of self-loathing as he was led out into the town, weathering the fearful looks directed at him. These humans were fickle, so quick with their emotions. Their hatred would fade once the danger was gone. He barely listened as the Seeker explained the Breach, his eyes were drawn to the telling bruise already forming on her wrist. He had almost killed her, had almost lost control entirely, just because he happened to be thinking of Ellana when he was struck. He owed this woman an apology. He spoke up, his voice soft.

“I feel I must apologize for injuring you, Lady Seeker. Your strike called back particularly unpleasant memories. I shall assist in any way I can in sealing this Breach but I will need my equipment. I trust you retained it?” The Seeker seemed surprised, though he could not tell if it was by the matter-of-fact words, or his overly formal mode of speech. He vaguely remembered a time when he spoke differently, did not agonize over every syllable. That person didn’t exist anymore, not really. Jason had been barely Twenty-Two when he took Caledor’s place and gained the memories of an Elf who had existed for centuries even then. He had been consumed by the older being from the start, he just hadn’t realised it for some time.

“We kept your equipment close by, we were not certain whether you would be hostile.” She spoke the words as she led them to the small cottage Amelan knew would later become his home for a time. She motioned for him to enter and as he obliged he found his armour set carefully on a simple stand and his sword set upon the bed. In several movements he had buckled the armour in place and drawn the sword, leaving the scabbard on the feathered mattress. It felt good to be encased in metal again, even if it was particularly heavy when drained of magic. It would take quite significant power now to activate the sword and armour, so much that he was confident that only he would be able to do it. As he joined them, Solas stared at the sword, a confused expression clouding his features.

“That is a truly wondrous sword, may I ask how you came to possess it?”

Amelan smiled, having already thought out this cover story. “I spend my time searching old Elvhen ruins around the Arbor Wilds, this and my armour were my most impressive find. All I know is that the blade was named _Vun’av’inga_ , or Sunfang. I am uncertain as to their previous owners, that part of the inscription had been worn away by time.” Sorted. Few had ever come back from exploring the Arbor Wilds, the humans would have no way to prove the items didn’t originate from there and the only one capable of confirming that they were not ancient elvhen was Solas, for whom revealing that information would be a great risk. Also, they had already accepted a mysterious elf who explored dangerous ruins, so it was his hope that another one without the volatile addition of magic thrown in was significantly easier to swallow. He smiled, gesturing towards the Breach.

“Shall we be on our way then? Adventure awaits!”


	5. A Miscalculation of Distances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelan meets a certain unnamed rogue, storyteller and sometime unwelcome tag-along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the long absence. Hit a wall for some reason with this chapter and just couldn't write any more for it, I've just decided to post it and move on at this point ;)

_ **Entry Two: Day 7 - 460bc (Before Chaos)** _

**_After recovering from the shock of my transportation I took the time to inspect the room and found it startlingly beautiful. The walls featured elaborate curves and pillars which were so delicate I could not understand how they could provide any support at all. While exploring I glanced out from the vaulted window and my heart nearly stopped. I knew this scene; I had only read a description of it once but there are not many cities which can have a moat of molten lava and an actual Dragon flying calmly in the distance. I was in Tor Caled! This is Ulthuan!_ **

Solas was becoming frustrated with his own ignorance. Not only had he indirectly caused all of this destruction, he had apparently missed that another of the Elvhen had awoken, not even noticing when the girl was standing ten feet away. It had only been Vunlea whispering his name that had drawn his attention. Were his senses so dulled that he could no longer detect one of elder blood? Worst of all, despite all of his horror at the explosion he couldn't help but notice that it had not been as large as it should have been. It was almost as though someone had absorbed most of its energy. But that was impossible! None but he had that amount of power! _And Corypheus apparently_ , his mind supplied traitorously, followed by _and I don't have that much power anymore, that was rather the point of this fiasco wasn’t it?_ The answers to his questions came in the form of a glowing figure being carried towards the cells.

As they moved swiftly up the mountain Solas noticed that the prisoner’s seemingly calm demeanor went through the window as he fought. At the beginning he toyed with his opponents, being faster and stronger than any Solas had seen in this world of tranquil. He would dance around a demon, slicing off limbs and appendages until it was lying on the ground, helpless. Only then would he destroy it. After felling two demons his demeanor changed drastically, where before he had been calculating now he appeared to be in a frenzy, the once careful and graceful cuts of _Vun’av’inga_ now raw and wild. Ah, another thing, _that Sword_. It was most certainly not of Elvhen make, regardless of the story the prisoner had fabricated to explain its existence, though it was exquisitely crafted. As he contemplated it he remembered the smug look the prisoner had directed at Solas as he told the lie. Almost as if he knew that Solas was the only one who could expose him and also knew what doing so would cost him. After the commotion following the prisoner nearly breaking the Seeker’s wrist the others seemed to have forgotten what the prisoner had said about knowing _what_ caused the explosion. He had been looking directly at Solas when he said it. This man knew more than Solas was comfortable with and was disturbingly brazen in his challenges. He would have to kill the poor fool soon; his Orb’s power should be a simple thing to extract if it has contained itself to the prisoner’s hand as he had hoped.

. . . . .

It was rather intriguing to fight without magic. It was the first time he had done so in quite some time and Amelan had to battle against every instinct he had. He spun from one demon to another, Sunfang cutting it in half even as it raised its arms to protect itself. He could feel the battle fever coming out in full swing, the thrill of pitting his very life against another’s in a test of skill more intoxicating to him than the most potent drug. A feral grin split his face as his attacks grew swifter with each kill, with just enough control remaining to keep his magic hidden. Still, even restricted as he was he could destroy these demons easily. He had been unnaturally swift and strong even among the Asur, with only Aenarion outpacing him with the blade and bow. He faltered as he thought of his oldest friend and barely dodged the claws of a desire demon. As he eviscerated it for its trouble he felt something brush against his shoulder and spun to cut into it, his blade slashing through the air and coming to a desperate stop an inch away from Vunlea's throat as he took in the empty battlefield. The battle appeared to be over, he had not noticed it in his frenzy. He sheepishly lowered his blade as the others stared at him. The Seeker and Vunlea just looked at him in shock but Solas smiled smugly, as if he had won some contest. How best to approach this? Ignore it? Ignore it. He looked at Vunlea.

“Ir abelas” He said, quiet enough that all but Solas and its intended recipient would miss it. He turned to the others. “We should continue, I think.” He strode off before any questions could be asked.

. . . . .

Amelan was still cursing himself as they fought towards the first rift of so many. The sounds of battle filtered through his mutterings and he looked up, confused. Were there already people up there? It was his understanding that his swift return from unconsciousness meant that they were part of the initial push into the valley and not a last ditch effort as it was in the game. He looked around him and noticed that there was a glaring absence in the group, he scolded himself for not noticing it earlier. When they crested the hill they found a lone Dwarf picking off demons as they emerged from the rift. He turned as they approached, a grin on his face as he saluted mockingly at the Seeker, who made what Amelan was coming to remember was her trademark disgusted noise.

“Ah, backup! And here I thought I’d be ass-deep in demons forever!”


	6. A Jaw Dropping Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelan is the victim of fairly extreme racism and responds to it in a totally calm and serene manner *Winks repeatedly looking like a madman*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI there is extreme gore and some language in this one. I'm going to up the ratings in a second, i meant to do it earlier but oh well.

_ **Entry Three: Day 7 - 460bc (Before Chaos)** _  
_**I was not left alone for long, a reverent attendant (though I did not notice this reverence at the time, I was still marvelling at his pointy ears) came to see if I wanted some spiced wine (which I apparently was partial to) I accepted and it was brought to me. I tried to hide my alarm when my voice came out much deeper and more musical than it ever had but I don’t think I did very well. It must be pre-sundering at least, I thought giddily once he had left. I was immediately thankful that I had read all of those books on the elves in Warhammer. I knew that this city was destroyed during the sundering and that no further mention of it was made, even on the otherwise detailed maps. As I was wondering what era I was in I was startled by the attendant again. “Lord Caledor, dinner has been prepared, were you intending to invite Lord Aenarion to your table?”** _

Even with the general hilarity of Varric's entrance there was a tense quiet as the group set up the forward camp, only made worse by the arrival of Chancellor Roderick. He immediately demanded Amelan’s imprisonment and declared his authority for all to hear. Cassandra just pushed him to the side and led the small group onwards. The temporary sealing of the Breach went much as it did in the game, Amelan reasoned that though he likely _could_ seal the Breach doing so would cause more trouble than it would prevent. The Inquisition would never form and this world would definitely feel it's loss. As he eviscerated the pride demon guarding the Rift Amelan raised his arm and activated the anchor. One thing he hadn't quite anticipated was the shockwave the Rift produced as it was closed, it blasted him backwards into the wall where the back of his head slammed into a rock and he promptly lost consciousness.

. . . . .

Amelan jerked awake, springing up from his prone position and gripping the arm that was prodding him quite hard in the side. He met his assailant's gaze and found himself lost in a sea of green. Such beautiful eyes. He was prodded again. And again. By all the gods why did he ever let this girl discover his weakness.

“Mama says you _must_ get up, Father.” The voice was like a sweet torture. There was something wrong, _why_ should he not hear that voice? It was such a lovely voice. His thoughts lost all cohesion when the small elf child dragged him into a warm hug, seemingly throwing her entire being into it. She always did give good hugs.

“Come Father, let me help you get up. I'll join you and we'll be the best team ever!” There it was again. That _feeling_. Something was wrong with this picture but _what_? Why would he not want this? _Because she died_ , a small, sad piece of his mind said. A look of frustration transformed Ellana's face as her voice became older and more jaded. “Damn, so close. Never mind, I'll get you next time. Now _wake up_.”

. . . . .

Amelan jerked awake, springing up from his prone position and gripping….nothing. A loud crash echoed from the entrance to the small cottage he found himself in and he spotted a young and obviously terrified elf scrabbling to pick up the supplies she had just dropped.

“I'm so sorry I woke you my lord. Please find it in yourself to forgive me, I am but a humble servant.” The way she cowered brought intense rage to Amelan. What life must she have led to expect abuse simply from waking someone up? He would not stand for this. He checked that he was in fact dressed before he slipped out of the bed and strode towards her.

“You will not kneel to me”

“But…”

“No. You are not lesser than me. You will **not** kneel. I am done with kneeling. Where is the Seeker?” The girl didn't seem to know what to do so she chose the easiest option and just told him. Amelan thanked her and strode from the cottage, nodding politely to the humans gathered to witness his walk to the Chantry. It transpired that the Chancellor was still quite cross about Amelan being allowed to wander freely. Like before, he wanted Amelan to be arrested and also like before Cassandra shut him down effortlessly while simultaneously announcing the Inquisition's formation. The sudden change in circumstances definitely seemed to shock the Chancellor, who stormed from the building, muttering obscenities as he went. Amelan chuckled under his breath.

“Something funny?” Cassandra asked, spotting his growing mirth.

“No. Not really.” The chuckling continued, sounding a bit breathless now.

“Well obviously there is. Spit it out man!”

“He didn't expect us. He didn't expect the Inquisition.” There were actual tears in his eyes as he fought the laughter. This was actually the first time Cassandra had seen the Elf smile, it was not entirely unpleasant. He forced a serious expression onto his face though they could still see the mirth hiding beneath. “I apologise Seeker, this is a somber occasion and I should not trivialise the Inquisition’s founding.”

“So you will stand with us?” Leliana seemed skeptical. Amelan gave her a small smile.

“Of course. I could hardly abandon you now.” They looked curious at his wording but said nothing, accepting the sentiment.

After some further discussions about what they would do next Amelan left the dark building and was nearly blinded by the evening light. Varric was waiting for him as he emerged, locking arms with Amelan and proceeding to drag him towards the tavern.

“Come on Firefly, we're having a kind of celebration. I'm sure after what you've been through you need a good stiff drink.” Amelan tried to not to react too visibly to the nickname. _I mean really,_ he thought _, I kill gods, slaughter thousands and save my world hundreds of times and the nickname I end up with is **Firefly**_. This was just _unfair_. He chuckled to himself as he allowed Varric to drag him through the doors of the Tavern. He then proceeded to, as Jason would have said, get entirely and completely _wasted_.

. . . .

The Nightingale watched a particularly drunk Amelan begin the seemingly insurmountable journey back to his cabin, seeing him stumble and lean against the sides of houses when his condition became too overpowering, it was becoming quite hilarious to watch. She had been hoping he might slip up in the tavern and allow the drink to loosen his tongue but there was no luck to be had there. He appeared to have an extremely high tolerance for alcohol. It was during one of his many breaks that a dark, cloaked figure appeared out from a side alley who, before either Leliana or Amelan could do more than stare in shock, plunged a long, wicked looking knife into the Herald's chest. Amelan looked down at the protruding hilt with a look of bemused confusion on his face as he slowly slid down the wall, a glistening trail of blood visible in the twin moonlight. Leliana stared in horror as their only hope of saving the world coughed up blood and she heard the whispered words spoken by the assassin in the silent night.

“Filthy Knife-ear, strutting around acting like you're better than us. Couldn't stop _me_ though could you? Some Herald. Maybe I'll pay the hot knife-eared cunt you came in with a visit, have a go before I slit her throat.” As he rambled on he didn't seem to notice the flickering green light appear in the wound around the still buried hilt of the knife. By the time he did it was too late, a blazing light erupted from the wound and Amelan's eyes, the knife melting in the heat. He rose to his full height and directed a look of such intense rage at the attempted assassin that the foolish man backed away slightly. Amelan seemed to battle with himself for a second, apparently deciding what to do with the man. After a moment's deliberation he tilted his head to the side and strode towards the now frantically retreating human.

“Oh shit, what the fuck!? How the fuck are you even still alive? You weren't supposed to be alive! Don't kill Me! Please! Have mercy!” The last words were reduced to a whimper as Amelan drew close to him. The elf gripped the human's jaw with one hand and wrenched the face up to be level with his, voice low and more vicious than Leliana had ever heard it.

“If your attack had been directed at me personally then perhaps I may have. It was not. You attacked me and would have attacked Vunlea simply due to the shape of our ears. I cannot allow such ignorance and malice flourish on this world as it did on mine. You will die in severe pain. I am not sorry.” In one swift movement he gripped the human's upper and lower jaws with each hand and tore the man's head in two. The screams were raw and primal but did not last long at all.

The Nightingale watched in abject horror as Amelan dropped the pieces of what had been his attacker to the gore stained dirt, flicked the blood from his hands and strode back towards his cabin, all signs of inebriation gone. It took her a moment to sift all that had happened through her mind, he had just died….and come back. He had just torn a skull apart with his bare hands and most importantly he had said _his world_. He did not consider this his world. How could that even be possible? Was he an ancient? From Arlathan? Leliana smiled to herself, _at last_ , she thought, _a challenge_.


	7. Bold Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from our friendly neighbourhood Nightingale.

_**Entry Four: Day 7 - 460bc (Before Chaos)** _   
_**They escorted me to the dining hall where I was seated at the head of the foremost table, attempting to hide my awkwardness around such finery. When Aenarion came I was startled by how young he was, somehow I had always pictured him as the tragic hero he would become and not as a young man in a world unaware of Chaos. He came up to me and bowed. “Lord Caledor, I thank you for inviting me to this hall, I trust you are well?” I accepted and he sat, looking at me curiously "Are you sure you are feeling well Caledor? You are not your usual self, you have not even lectured me once on quantum something or other . You have usually berated me in three different ways before I even sat down." What apparently started as a joke became deadly serious as he saw my look of utter panic.** _

Amelan paced and worried in the confines of his cottage. He had just killed someone, quite brutally as well. He should not have allowed the alcohol to affect him so much, he had just wanted _one night_ when he didn't have to wallow in his memories, that dream with the demon impersonating Ellana had hit him hard and he was dreading the next. Regardless of the circumstances he should not have exposed himself in such a way, even if he was still shaking off the effects to the alcohol. There was no telling who could have seen or, Asuryan preserve him, heard what had been said. _How am I ever going to manage this without you Ellie? You always stopped me when I became too brash, too cruel. Whenever I lost control you were just **there**. I'm not certain I can do this alone._ He was broken from his reverie by a sharp knock on the wooden door, he opened it to find Leliana standing calmly at the threshold.

“May I enter, Herald? We have a matter to discuss.” Alarm bells were casting a great din inside his head. _Not good. Not good._

“Of course, Lady Nightingale. Please make yourself at home.” She stayed just inside the threshold, obviously keeping an easy escape route accessible.

“It is my understanding that you were attacked tonight.” _Direct_ , he thought, _wasn't quite expecting that, probably the point though._ Amelan debated how to go about this, Leliana enjoyed a puzzle, this he knew. Possibly so long as he could convince her that he was not a threat she might be content to dance around him in a game of intrigue until he was ready to reveal his true origins and power. He kept his face expressionless.

“That is true. It was a lone madman, I am afraid I was forced to kill him.”

“I see. I trust you are well, Herald? No pains in your chest?” She let him stew on that before adding, “You were, after all, just thrown into a wall” _Hmm…so that's how she's going to play it. Very well._

“What pain there was is gone, Leliana. I heal very quickly.”

“Yes. I imagine you do.” The tension was palpable. He could sense Leliana tensing for a fight and made to head that off.

“My lady, I hope you understand that I intend to give my all to this Inquisition and to sealing the Breach. I trust you will allow me to do so.” The Nightingale considered for a moment before swiftly turning to leave. Just as she opened the door Amelan called her name, she turned to face him, one brow raised. “I have enjoyed our little game, my Lady. It has been quite some time since I sparred with a woman so skilled. I hope to continue this conversation in the future.” She stared at him for a second before a small smile graced her lips just as she turned to leave. Amelan closed the door behind her and exhaled deeply. This was _very_ dangerous, that woman would not rest until he was revealed. He would have to be very careful.

.     .     .     .     .

The events of the next few days were, though undoubtedly momentous, exactly as the game had described. It was with a sigh of relief that Amelan packed to leave for the Hinterlands after being informed about the presence of Mother Giselle. It was certainly going to be an interesting journey, he was being joined by the standard beginning party of Varric, Cassandra and Solas but with the addition of Vunlea, who was a mystery in her own right. They left early in the morning in order to avoid the clamor of activity that was Haven, walking off at a brisk pace and Varric already complaining. Some ways into the journey the banter began and Amelan found a great amount of satisfaction in arguing with Solas about the value of the Dalish. During one Such argument Cassandra, who had been listening with growing curiosity, spoke up.

“So Solas. I understand you are not fond of the Dalish from your discussions with the Herald. Is there a particular reason why you dislike them so? Are they not Kin to you?”

“They misremember much of what happened to our ancestors and do not react kindly to being corrected, Seeker. After the welcome I received I would certainly not call them Kin.”

Amelan bristled at the words. “They are alive! That is a feat in and of itself in this age of cruelty. You should not trivialize the sacrifices the People have made since the rebellion. They survived _despite_ what the veil did to them.” Cassandra did a double take.

“Wait. What rebellion?” It was Solas who answered, giving the Seeker a sour look for interrupting what was looking like a fairly decent argument.

“I have seen mentions in the fade that speak of a rebellion led by Fen’harel, one of the Elvhen Pantheon. But I am certainly interested in how _you_ have come to know about it, Herald?”

“I discovered many records lost to time in my travels. There were even a few preserved hand-painted portraits of Fen'harel himself. I am likely one of the few who know his true likeness and not his wolf form. The fade is not the _only_ source of knowledge, Fen.” He knew he shouldn’t bait the Wolf but he just couldn’t help himself, the look of surprise and panic on Solas' face at that moment was just _priceless_ , especially when Vunlea giggled quietly. In his opinion it was worth anything to hear that painfully familiar laugh. _Wait a minute_. Amelan gave Vunlea a calculating look, how could she have understood the humor behind the comment? She was not aware of the Apostate’s true identity. _Or was she?_ His mind supplied treacherously. _Perhaps that is the reason for her swift grasp of her powers? She must have already known the principles, just not known how to breach the veil and couldn’t exactly ask anyone in this place, not with how they treat Mages. Could she really be another Ancient though? He would have to watch her carefully._

They were often reduced to stony silence after each argument and Varric attempted to cheer the party up with stories of his adventures with Hawke, who was apparently a Female Mage who had fallen for a certain brooding figure. It was intriguing to hear of these beloved characters, as they weaved a tapestry of fate that no mere game could have predicted. Such as when she stopped the Qunari attack on Kirkwall and was somehow able to save both the Viscount _and_ the Arishock. And where Orsino never died. Essentially the Hawke of this world had broken through every limitation the game would have placed on her. The stories gave Amelan something he hadn't really had since Ellana died. Hope. Even while he still had Tyrion and Astarielle he had never allowed himself to actually _hope_.

“Herald? Are you well?” His attention snapped back into reality. The group was looking at him, curious expressions on their faces.

“What? Why would I not be well?”

“You were…well…” Cassandra stuttered, trying to find the appropriate word. Vunlea leapt to her rescue.

“You were staring ahead with a massive grin on your face, whistling a tune that was so beautiful I thought I might cry. It was so sad and melancholy and yet proud and grand and _hopeful_. It was like life itself and part of me wishes it _never stopped_. Come to think of it I don't think I've actually seen you smile that wide before, you actually didn't **brood** for like a solid ten seconds. It was _adorable_.” She was out of breath by the end of the little speech, Cassandra nodding fervently along with it.

Amelan struggled with what to respond with, but the only thing he could think to say was; “I do **not** _brood_.”

 


	8. Scarred in More Ways Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find that Amelan is very defensive when questioned about certain things. *Flails arms at the title*  
> Vunlea arrives at the level of rage we here in sunny England call 'a bit cross'.

**_ Entry Five: Day 7 - 460bc (Before Chaos) _ **

**_The rest of the day consisted mainly of explaining to Aenarion what I believed had happened. Amazingly enough, he seemed to take it all in his stride. To my understanding I am more heavily built than Caledor ever was. Aenarion can't figure out how he didn't notice earlier. It is like there is a glamour cast over me, making all who see me see the Caledor that they expect. Aenarion has agreed to keep my identity quiet until we find a way to reverse the process. He already has an idea of who would likely be able to help. The Everqueen. I understand that I am to undergo basic combat training during our journey to Avelorn._** **_I have to say I am quite excited to see the Everqueen. It is my understanding that Astarielle is a very beautiful woman as well as an exceptionally powerful Mage. It will definitely be an experience._ ** **_I think that will do for one day, the next few weeks will be fairly hectic so probably won't write any more till we reach Avelorn._ **

The next several weeks were quite successful for the small party, Cassandra thought. It was uncanny how Amelan seemed to know exactly the right thing to do for each situation, he had even convinced them to spare a large Druffalo wandering the countryside because he had ostensibly seen a name tag and determined that it was a pet. When the others were not looking the Seeker performed some furtive searching but could find no such tag, oddly enough she found she didn't really care just _how_ he knew of these things. Amelan was exactly what they had needed exactly when they needed him and _she_ wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. After they had spoken to the Chantry Mother at the Crossroads, they decided to go immediately to Val Royoux once they had stabilised the Hinterlands, which would likely take a few weeks yet.

They continued to perform hundreds of small kindnesses across the Hinterlands, even after the Mages and Templars were dealt with, and Cassandra began to feel not a small amount of respect for the melancholy elf standing before them. The elf who, when he smiled, seemed to light up the world around him. The elf with an exceptionally troubled past, if his scars were anything to go by. There had been a bit of a commotion the first evening when they camped next to a fresh stream, it had been decided that they would bathe separately since they were not a particularly large group and all of them were looking forward to being clean after a long day’s march. Amelan slowly unfastened his armour and set it carefully on the ground. It was at the point that he removed his shirt that everyone went silent and stared. They had all seen scars before, hell most of them _had_ them, but they had never seen scarring this extensive or deep, it also didn't help Cassandra that he was quite possibly the most heavily muscled man she had ever seen. Weren't elves supposed to be relatively short and lean? It was at about this point in her thought processes that Cassandra realised that she was staring at the elf and that she was _definitely_ aroused. She went bright red. Why was she reacting like this? She had been around half-naked men before, why would this be any different? Speaking up in an attempt to hide her awkwardness, she asked the question on everyone's mind. 

“Herald, are you aware that there are magical techniques which would remove those scars?” Amelan’s entire demeanour changed. He glared around at the group, seeing them all staring and cleared his throat before he spoke, his voice harsh.

“That presumes that I would wish them gone.” It was not so much the answer which shocked them but the hostile way in which it was said. Even in his more sombre moods he would not be so short.

“Why would you want them?” Cassandra asked, not to be disconcerted by his attitude.

“They are a reminder.” His posture spoke fairly clearly that he did not want to speak of this but Cassandra drove on, surmising that this was probably their only chance to get answers out him on this.

“Of what.” Sheer shame and despair seemed to fall over Amelan like a shroud, an old rage burning I'm his eyes.

“Failure. Now if you will excuse me, I think I will go.” Without any more preamble he rose to his feet and strode towards the stream. They did not speak of the scars again for some time. They did not speak of much else either.

.     .     .     .     .

The meeting with the Chantry mothers went much as expected. Seeing the grandstanding fools running around like headless chickens when the Templars abandoned them almost brought Amelan out from his melancholy. They received three separate invitations all within around an hour of each other. They were to go to a Salon held by the Grand Enchantress of the Imperial court and take a trip to Redcliffe to find out what was going on there. It was decided that they would travel to the Salon first, as it was closest, then move on the other two afterwards. There was also the 'mystery' of the arrow which impaled the ground inches from Amelan's feet as soon as the meeting was concluded, they were still trying to decipher the scrawled instructions on the red garments they had spent several minutes collecting.

Amelan was quite surprised when the others just accepted the story he fed them to explain where he found his outfit for the Salon, though he felt he was _probably_ overdoing the ancient elvhen ruins thing. It was just too good a chance to wear something from home. He had not spoken much with the group since the discussion of his scars. It was not a subject he would get into with them. They were a reminder of what happened when he allowed himself to believe, if only for a second, that everything would be alright. A lesson that, to his horror, he found he had already begun to forget. _No, I will not allow myself to become attached to these people, it will only cause more pain when they inevitably die._  Deep down he knew it was too late. His overall mood then, as he entered Madame de Fer's Salon, was fairly grim. It was made significantly worse by the attitude and arrogance of the Orlesians that surrounded him, commenting on how high he had risen for a 'rabbit'. He was genuinely considering just incinerating the lot of them when he spotted Madame de Fer sequestered behind a pillar above them, hawk-like eyes locked on him. Then someone tried to kill him. _This party might not be hopeless after all._ He thought as he gripped his assailant by the neck and lifted him from the ground to eye level.

.     .     .     .     .

The Iron Lady chose to hang back from greeting the Inquisition party when they entered. She wanted to determine just how this _Herald_ would cope with the foreign environment the Salon presented. She would not be shocked if this Herald was just an elf savage and she would not work with an organisation which put _that_ at its head. She was pleasantly surprised then to find the Herald to be very tall and handsome, though she would never admit that to his face. He had a long scar which ran down the right hand side of his face and long dark hair running unbound down his back. He was dressed in such exquisite finery that he made the other guests appear dull and monochrome in comparison. His outfit was a midnight black with a vivid green trim shaped in elaborate patterns. He moved with feline grace through the throng, chatting amiably and with extreme skill. Where had the elves been hiding this one all these years?

It was during a lull in the event that she signalled the Marquis to begin his allotted task, namely to openly disparage the Inquisition in an attempt to get a rise out of the Herald. In a roundabout way, it worked. The herald spoke with the man calmly but this seemed to only infuriate the Marquis, who had been chosen precisely for this ignorance and arrogance. As scripted the fool made to draw his blade and Vivienne prepared a spell to make her grand entrance. As she did however the Herald's arm shot out with blinding speed to clasp around the human's neck, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

“I think you will find, my dear man, that I am significantly harder to kill than you can possibly imagine. You are more than welcome to try, though I will warn you that it would not go well for you.” He dropped the struggling Marquis to the ground and directed his gaze directly into Vivienne’s. _How did he even know I was here?_ When he started to stride towards her, she was forced to emerge from her hiding place, feeling as if she had lost a game somehow. When the Herald reached her he spoke quietly and with an accent she could not place. “Now that we are done with our _little entertainments._  I believe we have matters to discuss, Lady Vivienne.” _She was going to have to watch this one._

.     .     .     .     .

Vunlea had spent almost her entire time since the explosion at the Conclave with Solas. She found him fascinating, and just as handsome as the posters had suggested. She wasn't quite sold on the baldness though, not after she had seen his auburn locks before the fall. It was obvious to her that the subservient and calm demeanour he displayed most of the time was a very cleverly crafted defence mechanism. He wasn’t like that with her though, he was bolder. Come to think of it she was pretty sure he was flirting with her. It was hard to tell though, she had never really had attention like this directed at her. When she was younger any potential matches were scared off by her father. It was at times like this that she realised that despite being alive for quite some time, she was actually still quite young.

Solas had known her identity from the moment he saw her. It was a sensation she had never expected to feel again, to know that there was _someone_ who knew her for what she truly was. Even Amelan didn't know that secret, though she was starting to think he suspected. They had grown quite close over the past few weeks. Not close like with Solas, all sexual tension and shared secrets. She remembered her first impression of him, that he acted almost like a father. That much was still true, perhaps even more so. He got confused much less now, barely mentioned the mysterious 'Ellana'. But he still treated her as if she were some precious thing to be guarded from harm. She found that she actually felt safe here, in this group of strange and eclectic people. She hadn't felt this safe in a very long time. She decided that she would try to flirt with Solas tonight, life was too short for indecision. If he liked her he could just out and _say it._ She was done dancing around people. Come to think of it, she would speak to Amelan. He shouldn't be so angry with the others for being curious. She was confident that she could talk him around, he seemed to care what she thought for some reason.

.     .     .     .     .

Later that evening Amelan found himself sat staring at the flames of the campfire, secluded from the general mirth of the rest of the group. He felt that familiar jolt of painful recollection as Vunlea slumped down next to him, one hand resting gently on his arm. She sat like that for a short while, staring at the dancing flames before she spoke softly to him.

“You can't stay mad at them forever, you know. They were only asking questions.”

He smiled sourly. “I can certainly try.”

“What's so troubling about the scars?”

“I do not like to be reminded of them. Or the reason that they are there.”

“Why keep them then?”

“Because I _should_ remember!” He seemed to realise that he was shouting and tried to calm himself. “Because the moment I forget their origin is the moment I allow it to happen again.”

Vunlea just huffed angrily. “Look. I can't _make_ you talk to them but can’t you see you're just being silly? They were only asking questions. You could just have _told_ them that you didn't want to talk. But no! You went out for a bit of broody _brooding_ and it’s been bloody _weeks_ now!" She jabbed a finger at him, prodding him in the side mercilessly. "Now you will go over there and you will play nice and be _civil_ or so help me I'll scream!” Amelan couldn't help but feel chastised, and not a little bit ashamed by the tirade. She was right. Defeated, he trudged his way towards the rest of the group with Vunlea in tow to make sure he wasn’t ‘accidentally’ diverted. As he arrived they all looked up at him curiously, Varric raising an eyebrow. Vunlea came to a stop next to him. “Well?”

Amelan mumbled something undecipherable. The look on Vunlea's face was so murderously comical he began to chuckle. “Fine!” He said when he caught his breath. “I'm sorry for avoiding you all. I am not accustomed to people questioning those scars. Suffice it to say that I do not wish to speak of them. As for the rest of my behaviour…I had some issues to sort out.” 

Varric snorted good naturedly. “I think we all figured that one out, Firefly. It’s ok though, we'll let you back in the group…on probation though, you hear?”

Amelan chuckled, finally allowing himself to smile. “I think I can work with that.”

****


	9. Rusted and Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for the feels. It will get happier I swear! Probably. ;)

**_Day 79 - 459bc_ **   
_**Well I'm finally in Avelorn! It took bloody ages but at least I'm one step closer to going home now. The journey in and of itself was entertaining in a way. It turns out when Aenarion says he will train you to fight he really means it. I think my bruises are starting to develop bruises. On the bright side I have discovered that I am very strong and agile in this body, Aenarion says I might actually be able to match him one day. I don't believe him personally but it's a start.**_

_**I think I will remember my meeting with Astarielle for the rest of my life. Aenarion and I moved cautiously through the glade which was her home this time of year. Before we could think a small form appeared as if by magic from the undergrowth and tripped us. I stared up into wondrous green eyes and a very sharp looking sword.** _

Vunlea fretted and paced the next morning. Why had she shouted at him last night? He was obviously going through difficult times, it had not been her intention to yell at him like an insolent teenager. It had started out quite well, simple bodily contact and calm words. These were things she had found people _needed_ when they were feeling low. And then she had ruined it all. She didn't think she would ever forget that look of hurt chastisement he had given her. Because of her impatience. He likely now believed what he was _feeling_ , what he was _going through_ , was ' _silly_ '. She needed to fix this. But she just didn't know _how_.

As badly as the evening started, it had ended very well indeed. After she had done her damage to Amelan she had sought out Solas, feeling ashamed of her actions. She had found the elf leaning against a tree, watching the newly awakened Amelan as he nervously reintegrated himself into the group he had distanced himself from. A small smile could be seen on the Apostate’s face as he watched.

“It is a good thing you have done.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“Oh?”

“I think I may have made it worse in the long run. I…lost my temper. Shouted at him. Berated him into giving in to my wishes. He is not well, even I can see that.”

“He _does_ appear to have his own set of secrets.”

“No. It's more than secrets. Something _broke him_. I think he's barely hanging on as it is and then I go and tell him that his feelings don't matter. That they’re _silly_. I hope he’ll be ok.”

“You care for him?” The careful neutrality of the statement caught her off-guard.

“What? Of course I do! Why? You jealous?” She said it as a joke, mainly to hide her own insecurities. Surely he couldn’t be. Could he?

“Perhaps. Can I be blamed? You are a very beautiful woman.” **WHAT?!**

“Umm….” It turned out that _wanting_ to flirt and _actually_ flirting were two _very_ different things entirely. They sat in silence for several terrible moments. The look on Solas' face at her apparent rejection was heartbreaking.

“Ah…that was very forward of me. I apologise, you bring out a certain…restlessness in me. Please forget this conversation.” **No**. He turned to leave but Vunlea's hand gripped his arm, knuckles white and shaking. Creators. Why was she shaking? Surely she couldn't still be affected by…no. That was _four years_ ago. I will not allow that to ruin my life. Her voice was quiet when she finally gathered the confidence to speak.

“Don't go.” She looked up into his eyes to see a hope so strong and, well… _hopeful_ …she thought her heart might burst.

“ _Ma nuvenin_.”

. . . . .

Several more weeks passed. The intrepid group met up with and recruited many more companions. There was a mischievous city elf who despaired at Amelan’s perceived elfiness. An estranged Warden who was the very picture of stoic power and The Iron Bull, a self confessed spy (honestly who does that? He's either the worst or best spy in history). It seemed that Solas and Vunlea were becoming a great deal closer to each other. He would often spot them excitedly discussing magical theory while the Apostate nonchalantly rested an arm around her and Vunlea blushed so deeply that Varric teased her about needing some burn salve. They were not past the blushing young virgins stage yet (though Amelan was fairly certain Solas was not a virgin) but it warmed Amelan’s heart to see Vunlea so vibrantly happy. As it was Vunlea tiptoed around him, constantly asking over his welfare and generally being endearingly irritating, he wondered if she had suspected something about his state of mind.

Amelan consented to a meeting with the Grand Enchanter and Magister Alexius, having long ago decided to recruit the rebel Mages. It seemed like no time had passed at all before Amelan was standing in the throne room of Radcliffe Castle with Vunlea, Solas and Cassandra bringing up the rear. Alexius was his usual arrogant self as he greeted them, his true personality only revealed when his own son was forced to out him. Sheer, desperate fear gripped the man then. Amelan recognised that expression. This man was protecting his child. He tried to think back, tried to decide if he would have sacrificed his world for Ellana. Yes. Yes he would have. He would have burned his world to the ground if it could have saved her. But he couldn't have saved her. Would never have arrived in time. He had been forced to let her go, as unsuccessful as that had been. This man wasn’t doing that. He was clinging on for dear life because of his fear of letting his son go. It was when Alexius finally realized that he had lost that he made the final bid for victory Amelan had been waiting for, raising his amulet high and pointing a shaking hand at Amelan and Dorian. Amelan prepared himself for the time jump.

Vunlea appeared to also sense what was happening since she darted forwards, flinging Amelan out of the way of the blast. As she and Dorian vanished in a flash of magic, Amelan's world tore apart. A small voice at the back of his mind told him that she would live but that didn't matter because _Vunlea was gone. **Gone**._ He was alone again. He struggled to breathe. Why had he ever let himself care? Now he was alone. **_Alone_**. _**Always alone.**_

Something within him, a piece that had tarnished and rusted with each loss and hardship, a part that was just beginning to heal, snapped. Never again would this happen to him. Never again would he feel such _weakness_. His eyes burned with green fire as he gave up all pretense of powerlessness, his armour blazing as he screamed in pain and brought his arms together before wrenching them apart in a tearing motion. The Magister tore in half, a look of bemused surprise marring his face. Amelan's companions looked at him in shock and barely concealed horror as they took in the blood covered apparition which had taken their friend's place. He looked at them coldly before vanishing in a blast of light.


	10. Abandoned

_**Day 80 - 459bc** _   
_**It turns out that the magic which brought me here would have required an unprecedented amount of energy. As in the blow up the world level of magic. According to the Everqueen the only thing which could possibly return me to my world would be the very same thing that brought me here. I may be here longer than I thought. Not sure how I feel about that. It's pretty cool here though, with all the magic and dragons and freaking elves. And I'm quite looking forward to getting to know Astarielle, she seems pretty interested in hearing about my world.**_

At first when they discovered that they had been transported into the future Vunlea stayed relatively calm. After all, it wasn't like _Amelan_ had been taken from them. She was hardly valuable. The world had kept going quite happily without her presence for quite a while, it wasn't as though it would all go to shit just because _she_ was gone. It quickly dawned on her just how _wrong_ she was. Pretty much at the exact time she found Cassandra in one of the rusted cells. The corruption was evident in the Seeker's body. Her shock at seeing Vunlea and Dorian alive was palpable.

“You are alive! How is this possible?!” Dorian sprung into a repetition of the explanation of their predicament he had used for Vunlea. Once Cassandra was sufficiently up to speed Vunlea asked the questions which had been on her mind since she was dropped into this horrible place.

“What happened Cassandra? How did this happen? Why didn't Amelan stop it?” Cassandra seemed to rage at the name.

“He left us. Abandoned us after Alexius destroyed you. At first we searched for him, hoped he would return to us. He never did, and searching very swiftly became an impossibility.”

“Why would he _do_ that?”

“I do not know. But you can reverse this? Make it so this awful year never happened?”

Vunlea looked into the eyes of a truly broken woman. She would not let these people down, as Amelan apparently had. Her voice held a steely determination when she gathered herself enough to reply. “Yes, I will fix all of this. Where are the others? Do any of them yet live?”

As Cassandra led them through the dungeons Vunlea was an emotional mess. Mulling over Amelan's disappearance. _Where did you go? How could you do this to them?_

She froze as she came face-to-face with what was left of Fen-harel.

. . . . .

It had certainly been a…trying…time for Solas. It became abundantly clear very early on that the Herald was no ordinary opponent. That had been confirmed on the first night they had travelled together. He had attempted to enter the Herald's dreams only to find an impenetrable wall around the enigma’s sleeping mind. He had not been able to gain access the next night either, or the next. It smarted Solas' pride. He confirmed again and again that he could not feel any magical energy coming from the Herald and again and again he found _nothing_. That level of defense in the fade _shouldn't be possible_ without magic.

The worst thing for _him_ personally was that the Herald was, well… _likeable_. Yes he could be severe and melancholy but it was becoming very clear that was not his natural state of mind. It turned out it was very hard to plan the death of a man so obviously _kind_  It could be seen in the way he interacted with people, the way he helped them. He was _accustomed_ to this. How?

And then there was Vunlea. He should never have encouraged it but then he could never help himself. She was beautiful, intelligent and, most of all, he didn't have to _lie to her_. She already _knew everything_. She didn't even hate him for what he did to her parents. And then she was _gone_. Destroyed by the Tevinter Magister in Redcliffe. He struggled to contain himself, to prevent himself from doing something to reveal his identity despite the swirling chaos inside of him. Amelan was apparently not bound by the same restrictions. He noticed the change first, the _moment_ their Herald snapped. The point when his eyes went…calm. He had made a decision. And then came the magic. And _such magic_. Before any of them could move he was gone. He had abandoned them to be captured by the hordes of Red Templars and Venatori who poured in.

Now corrupted and broken, Solas finally allowed himself to _hate_. He hated the coward who had abandoned them. He hated the cursed Magister for taking Vunlea from him. And, above all, he hated himself. For he had caused all of this, had broken the world in an attempt to fix it. And then, just as he began to truly wallow in despair, he saw a pair of wondrously green eyes.

. . . . .

In his new home, a dark cave in the distant wilderness, Amelan sat upon the throne he had carved for himself out of the stone. The Red Lyrium had spread even to this secluded place, shards of the vile material jutting from the sides of the cavern. He could _feel_ the shards growing and multiplying within him but rarely gave it any mind, it was the Song which commanded his thoughts. It told him to rend, to kill. It was pure madness and it was eating at his very soul.

He wasn't certain if he had truly sensed the ripple in the veil or if it was a fevered dream summoned by the Lyrium. Could she have returned? Had he abandoned them for nothing after all? He would have to discern the truth. One last flight. Before he gave in to the Song.

It was not an elf which emerged from the dark cave, clawing its way to its Sunlight.


	11. Em lanasta ma.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY FEELS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for elvhen at the end.

**_ Entry Two: Day 80 - 459bc _ **

**_P.S. Well shit. Just realised I might actually be immortal. Fuck._ **

Vunlea had to force herself not to cling Solas as they marched swiftly to the throne room, having gathered the shards needed for entry. Though why it was locked when Alexius was dead was beyond her. Solas had just stared at her when she had found him. Just stared into her eyes and whispered one word, half in a daze and in complete, rapturous wonder. _Vhenan_. He called her his _heart._ It made her, for the briefest and only time, want to _hurt_ Amelan. For doing this to Solas. For reducing him to _this._ This place had broken him. Had _destroyed him._ This was just a remnant. A shell. It hurt her to see him like this and not comfort him just because of the risk of corruption.

When they finally entered the throne room they were exhausted but determined, expecting some sort of fight to reach the amulet. All they found instead were the eerily preserved remains of the Magister, amulet still gripped in one slightly warm hand. A loud noise broke the silence and they all looked up warily, only to hear incomprehensible roars and crashes as some sort of battle was fought directly above them. It put them all a little on edge but when nothing else happened for a second, they relaxed slightly. Naturally it was just waiting for a more dramatic introduction since, just after Dorian had explained just how much time it would take to reverse the time spell the world, for all intents and purposes, fell apart.

.     .     .     .     .

With an earth shattering screech one of the things fighting above them was rent from the sky. The ceiling shattered as a massive Dragon with shards of red rock protruding from its skin fell to the ground with a crunch, dead. It was shortly followed by another Dragon. While the first had been large, this was colossal. The majority of it was a midnight black, darkness solidified. The rest was a vivid and familiar green. Some of the red shards which had marred the dead Dragon could also be found on the new one, though it was nowhere near as corrupted. It made for a truly spectacular sight, especially once it was encased in a shining green vortex and replaced by the shimmering form of Amelan. He looked very tired, bags under his eyes and lines on his previously ageless face. He came to a sudden stop when he spotted Vunlea. His mouth opened and closed in confusion before he gave up and turned to the door being rammed off its hinges, raising his arms. A series of screams could be heard coming from the other side, followed by dull thuds. Amelan turned back to the gathered warriors.

“That should buy us some time. You must have questions.” He said with a small grimace of pain that might, in another world, been a smile.

“You _are_ alive! Where did you go! We needed you!” Cassandra was nearly incandescent with rage as she shouted at him. The pained weariness Amelan displayed switched, without warning and in the space of a second. A burst of magic erupted from him and flung the seeker across the hall at a sickening speed. She slammed into the far wall, a loud CRACK! Sounding as she crumpled to the floor, head lolling at an unnatural angle. Amelan barely glanced at her, his eyes still locked on the rest of the group as they rushed to Cassandra's body.

“I will not have _shadows_ speak to me in such a way! I am not some _mortal,_ to have my movements contested and my whims checked. You are all beneath me! No. I don't have to listen.” He tilted his head to the side, almost as if he was listening to something. “No, I won't kill them yet. Shut up. I'm in control, not you.” His eye began to twitch.

“What happened to you? How could you _do_ this?!” Vunlea demanded, sobbing and not caring what he might do to her. A look of rage flicked across his face before he seemed to focus on her and the rage was slowly replaced by a haunted regret as he answered in a barely audible whisper.

“I lost _you_.” She stood, dumbfounded at the statement.

“Why would that change you so thoroughly? What's so special about _me_?” His expression became harsh. Feral. She could see his arms trembling.

“Because you are the only thing of worth I have seen in this pitiful excuse of a world. So much like _her_. Hair spun with gold. So beautiful. So strong. He-I- _We_ can't help but love you. Can't help but _adore_ you. Can't help but _burn this world to the ground_ even if it gifts you just a single extra _second_ of existence. Ask him sometime, the other me. The one who hasn't broken. Ask him about _Ellana_.” The twitching became more pronounced, the red glow growing brighter as he gestured violently at the others. “Can't you see that they destroy themselves, persecuting those whose power could save them. They called me knife-ear! Me! I am older and more powerful than they can imagine and they spat on me! I thought I could shoulder the burden once more, endure. But I couldn’t do it. Now I am lost, the Song is all that is left. The Song is telling me to kill you all, kill the world. Is it not _enough_ that I resist? That I hold back that _darkness_?”

She looked at him with morbid fascination. “What Song?” She asked, not entirely certain she wanted to know the answer. He looked at her in surprise.

“The Red Song. Do you not hear it, feel it? It is all around, beating, _living._ I can feel myself fraying at the edges. Help me. Destroy me before I do something terrible.” Solas spat out a long, fast string of elvhen. Amelan apparently understood it as much as Vunlea for he snarled and began to glow further.

“You dare name me betrayer, _harellan?!_ You dare claim shared pain?! You abandoned your people to the fate _you_ _yourself_ doomed them to! And when they still clung on to fragmented pieces of their heritage with undaunted ferocity you mocked them for remembering the _wrong things_. I stayed with my people to the very end! I watched them all die! _Watched my entire world die!_ **_You know nothing of pain!_** ” He screamed the words as power built around him. Sensing what was coming Vunlea darted forwards, putting herself between the man she was fairly certain that she loved and the man who had been like a father to her these past few months. The power stopped building but stayed around him, swirling with a hypnotic rhythm. She moved slowly forward, eyes locked with his. He looked at her, eyes wide and hands shaking as she cupped hers around his face and smiled warmly.

“Em. Lanasta. Ma.” She spoke the words softly as she stared into those green eyes, now flecked with red. The glow seemed to fade as some vague semblance of sanity returned to him. He took a deep shuddering breath before straightening his posture, tears falling down his face as he regained control.

“How?” He whispered in disbelief.

“Because I always will. Now you just need to forgive yourself.” She smiled warmly up at him. Suddenly in a blur of movement he was gripping her arms, eyes wide and pleading. “Don’t tell him what I did. No matter what happens, he must never know what I did. It would destroy him. Please?” She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face before removing her hands from his face and saying, in a calm voice. “Ma nuvenin.” He visibly calmed at the statement.

“We do not have much time; they batter at the defences I set around the room.” He turned his attention to the remaining companions scattered around the room. “Inquisition. I have failed you, and can no longer command your loyalty. Will you fight by my side one last time? As I should have fought by yours. We must aid them in healing this world.” He turned to a blank faced Solas. “Ir ebalas, lethallan. Ir ema vianem ma. Sa fel'el rosa, Fen'harel? Sul revas?” The taciturn God broke into a small sad smile before nodding grimly and moving to stand beside Amelan and the others, forming a line before the doors. “Begin your spell Dorian. We shall hold them but I fear we will not last long. This corruption weakens us.” As he spoke the great gates broke open and hundreds upon hundreds of Red Templars and Venatori poured in.

Vunlea watched them all fall, one by one, as Dorian prepared the portal. Soon only Amelan and Solas remained, fighting back to back. Amelan's gaunt face came alive with a feral grin as he swept through the Red Templars and Venatori like they were made from tissue paper. They fought with no thought for self-preservation, taking multiple blows as they cut their enemies down five at a time, Amelan with a blade and Solas with massive blasts of magic. Just as the portal opened Vunlea and Dorian began to be overwhelmed, waves of enemies sweeping past the two remaining fighters. Casting a glance at them Amelan thrust his hands out, radiating magic as he created a shimmering barrier around the portal. Solas gripped Amelan’s shoulder and poured power into the spell. “Go!” He screamed to Vunlea as several arrows collided with his chest, the light going out of his eyes. Dorian leapt through the portal and she gave Amelan one last desperate look, just as a spear slammed through his breastplate. He fell to his knees, still holding the barrier as another three spears impaled him. Suddenly the danger just wasn’t important anymore. She moved swiftly to his side and he grimaced in effort as he expanded the shield to cover them both, it began to waver and fray at the edges but kept its shape, barely. He met her eyes and smiled sadly. “Go. He needs you. He could never do this alone.”

“But you'll die.”

“Everyone I have ever known and loved barring _you_ has either died or been corrupted. It is fitting that I managed both before my end.” His chuckle was weak and wheezing. “No. I died quite some time ago my dear, now go and _live”._ She kissed his cheek softly, sparing one last tortured glance at Solas’ body. She made it to the portal just as it began to close. 

.     .     .     .     .

Amelan coughed up blood. The Templars were approaching warily, not quite willing to believe that he was beaten yet. Just as they appeared to gain confidence the sun rose, visible through the colossal tear in the ceiling. Amelan basked in the warmth, letting it seep into his bruised bones, a contented smile settling on his face.

He blinked back tears and sighed. “Here I come my dears, sorry for making you all wait so long. Never was very good at being on time, was I?”

He was still smiling when his head left his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen (from FenxShiral);
> 
> Em lanasta ma = I forgive you  
> Harellan = Traitor or Rebel  
> Ma nuvenin = As you wish  
> Ir ebalas, lethallan. Ir ema vianem ma. Sa fel'el rosa, Fen'harel? Sul revas? = I am filled with mourning, my friend. I have wounded you. One last stand, Dread Wolf? For freedom?


	12. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vunlea returns from the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the long absence, life got pretty hectic the last few weeks. Should be back to around a chapter a week now hopefully though :)

**_ Day 92 - 459bc _ **

**_It has been suggested that I remain in Avelorn with Astarielle for the time being. Aenarion intends to bring my warnings of Chaos and death to the minor Elven leaders, though it is not particularly urgent since we still have over 400 years and already have the Everqueen on our side. I am to continue my training with Astarielle, who seems endlessly curious about my world. I am starting to appreciate my new body, it is strong and fast and pretty impressively built. Better than I ever managed back home anyway. Honestly I think I've actually even  started answering to Caledor now, my own world already seems like a distant memory, a nightmare without purpose._ **

Amelan stared dumbfounded as Vunlea reappeared in a flash of light, several moment's after Dorian and with gleaming tear tracks roving down both wondrous eyes. He had been _so close_. He had almost just...given up. Given up the fight against the numbness that had permeated his very being once his family died. He'd had the first symptoms quite some time before that of course, had hidden it from all who might care. Their elders had named it the _soul-fade_ , an inevitable side affect of eternal existence. And he had been one of the very oldest of his people, had lost count of the years that had passed him by, an immovable rock at the centre of a swirling sea. It had only been those he loved keeping him anchored. Then he had clung to the grief of losing them. Now...now he had nothing, only some fascination with a woman who happened to look like his daughter. It was _pathetic_. It was _silly_. She had been right, just not in the way she thought. What was the point in saving this foreign world? He had no stake here, no _life._ Just a reminder of all that had come before.

Decision made he turned to leave, this place and everything. And found himself face to face with Ell- ** _no_**... _Vunlea_. She gave him a knowing look, as if his every secret was laid bare before her very eyes. Wordlessly she drew him into a deep, uncompromising hug, seemingly throwing her entire being into it. He choked at the recollection, struggling against the memories. Fighting them. Vunlea caught his face with her hands, holding his eyes to hers. Not letting him flee.

“No. Feel it. Let it out. There are none here who will judge you.” He backed away but she anchored him in place. “Let us in Amelan. Let us help.” He looked around but all he found were sympathetic, if confused, eyes. Only Dorian seemed to understand the enormity of her words. By all the gods, what had he _done_ in that terrible future?

And so, for the very first time since they died. Amelan cried for all he had lost. And all he was yet to lose.

.     .     .     .     .

Once he had composed himself, Amelan found that he did actually feel _better_. Not by much but it was a start. The others had arranged for the Mages to be recruited as free allies in his absence, knowing full well his feelings on the matter. It would take several weeks for them to arrive at Haven and prepare to seal the Breach. Which gave Amelan and his party time to make a small detour into the Fallow Mire to save several solders held captive by barbarians. As they dove ever deeper into the fetid swamp, destroying the undead and cleansing the area, Amelan found himself growing listless again. It was just... _hard._ To lie to these people, with his every breath and movement he lied to them. But it was for the best. The greater good.

He sat alone at the campfire, having taken the midnight watch. He would have never slept anyway, he was too cowardly to face his dreams. They had taken Astarielle's form the last time, enticing him with his wife’s beauty. It had been difficult to resist. To hold himself back. He stood up, striding to his tent to strap on his armour and grasp his blade. This would end _now_.

.     .     .     .     .

The group noticed that Amelan was gone fairly quickly. His emotional state had led them to watch him carefully, to ensure he didn't do something stupid. Like take on a small army of Avvar singlehandedly. And so they found themselves at the entrance to a great throne room, watching the blur of silvered death that was their Herald cut through a group of at least twenty Avvar warriors before taking on the leader, meeting the bearded giant blow-for-blow, arm not even twitching as his sword met the massive axe of his opponent.

.     .     .     .     .

Surprise and shock were the only things going through the mind of the Hand of Korth. This tall elf was unnaturally strong, matching him blade to blade, like a man. He allowed himself to move faster and faster, assuming the false God-speaker would think him slow and heavy. Then, after a feint he swung a massive fist towards the elf’s face, too swift to dodge. But the elf didn't dodge. Slender fingers enclosed the ham sized fist, halting it in its tracks. A wide grin appeared on his opponent's face before, with apparently little effort, he shattered the bones on the arm.

**_Pain_**. Pain of a sort he had not known for a long time. The Hand of Korth fell to his knees, cradling his crushed appendage. He had failed. He should never have challenged this elf. Never taken his soldiers. He had only ever wanted to impress his clan. He rose to his feet, ready to meet his death, instead all he was met with were calculating green eyes.

“You are too great a warrior to be wasted on such a pointless death. Why would you throw your life away like this? Do you not wish for a greater cause?”

“You do not intend to finish me?” The elf tilted his head, considering.

“No. You shall not die this day. I have a job for you. One which will bring you glory. What is your name?”

"I am The Hand of Korth."  _That_ got him a sharp look of chastisement.

"No. Not title.  _Name_."

The Hand of Korth smiled uncertainly before deciding it was probably best to do what the elf said. "Ranveig. Son of Movran the Under." He said.

"Better. I am Amelan." He seemed to consider for a while before he smiled slightly. "Son of David. Welcome to the Inquisition Ranveig. Now where are my soldiers?"

.     .     .     .     .

Several hours later Cassandra, Varric and Solas sat in a circle, Vunlea having gone to ensure Amelan didn't vanish from his tent again. The collective image of that arm shattering like poorly made plaster still shuddered it's way into their minds. Cassandra spoke first.

“I still don't quite understand how he _did_ that. He shouldn’t be that strong. Solas, are you certain he is not a mage?

“He exudes no aura. Either he has managed the impossible and leashed his power or he is simply very strong.” He thought carefully before adding. “There were legends that my ancestors were indeed physically powerful. He may have inherited more than just pointed ears. It would also explain his build. I myself am slightly taller and broader than most of my kind. It is in no way an isolated occurrence.” Solas cringed internally at his words, this was getting dangerous. And it _was_ an isolated occurrence. The elves of this age were _all_ slight and lean. Their power had been ripped from them by the veil and their frames had diminished. Even if some distant few could retain the height and build it required a direct and unrestricted connection to the fade to maintain the kind of strength displayed that night. They would _have_ to have been born before the fall. Into a world _full_ of magic. It was the only way. Varric rescued him from his inner monologue by riling the Seeker.

“I think we should just give Firefly the benefit of the doubt for now. Worrying about it won't do anything but make the Seeker go that brilliant purple. See! There she goes.” The evening deteriorated into squabbling and Solas slid away to check on Vunlea and the Herald.

He found them shortly after, Vunlea sitting beside him with an arm around his shoulders. Against his better judgement Solas felt a pang of intense jealousy. He remained hidden, listening to the conversation being had.

“You spared him.”

“Yes. There has been enough death.”

“In the future, you asked me to...ask you about something.” The Herald was immediately wary, eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

“You told me to ask about Ellana. You said once you told me about her I would understand.”

“Understand what?”

“He made me promise not to tell you. Made me swear it.”

“I do not see why. It is clear that I abandoned them, it is what I was preparing to do after you had vanished. Even still planned to do when you returned.”

“Why?”

“Because I could see no purpose in staying. I let my...somewhat questionable emotional state influence my actions. But you stopped me...knew exactly what I needed.”

“I think deep down everybody wants a hug.” Amelan laughed. A short burst of sheer amusement.

"You sound _exactly_ like her, how is that? You know what? I'm done evading this. You want to know about Ellana? Fine. Ellana was my daughter.” _Daughter_?! _He had children?!_ “She was beautiful, clever and kind. She could have been your twin in many ways. You may have noticed how hard it was for me, at the beginning, to separate the two of you in my mind. I do not speak of her because it pains me to do so.” Solas could see Vunlea struggling with the inevitable next question.

“How did she die?” His expression lost a great deal of its humour but was still kind as he answered her.

“In pain. Calling for me to save her.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. _You_ didn't do it. And I avenged her, not that it ever brought her back. I did hope for a time, her family always was... _durable_.” _What could he mean by that? Every damn thing this man says adds another mystery._ They sat in silence for a time before he spoke again. “We should return to the group, they are likely wondering where we have gotten to. I imagine Solas will be pleased to have you back.” He turned to look directly at where Solas was, in fact, hiding. “Won't you?” _Damn_.


	13. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the esteemed words of Thedas' greatest author. 
> 
> "Well...shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter this time, might be a little while before I get the next one up. I only have outlines after this one ;) Enjoy!

**_ Day 230 - 458bc _ **

**_I think I might be in love. She is…perfect. It is impossible, some part of me knows that, but I can't help but be bewitched by everything she does. It was quite a shock to discover that despite their agelessness this society is still very young, well in relative terms. Astarielle is 227 years old, not the thousands I had feared and yet I am still but a child compared to her. And yet there is hope, however fruitless that may be. Despite (or perhaps due to) their long lifespans, Elves appear to treat children with a reverence that borders on worship. They treat each decade of childhood as we would a single year. They also mature much slower, with Astarielle having only just grown into womanhood (She is apparently the equivalent of a woman in her mid-20s on my world). She seems to be at once my Elder and yet remains young and impetuous, often toying with me as we practice swordplay, in such a way that I am fairly certain that she is flirting with me. Which is absurd!_ **

After ensuring the liberated soldiers were safely escorted to camp, ironically by their captor, the group left for Haven. Two weeks later Amelan found himself standing in front of the Breach once again, lifting his hand and forcing the magic to only come from his hand. It hadn't been long before he noticed that he had taken a great deal more power from the Orb than he was likely meant to. It was more than an anchor now, it permeated his very being.

He closed the Breach, not even needing the Mages in the end, though he restrained himself to avoid awkward questions. He could not afford them discovering _anything_ until Corypheus revealed himself. The attack came soon after, death and destruction all around despite all he did to hold them back. After the Dragon appeared they were all forced into the Chantry to plan the escape, Amelan having saved the majority of their soldiers and villagers. But not enough, _never enough._

As they rode out for their last stand to buy time for the people of Haven Amelan’s attacks became more and more vicious as he spiralled out of control. He had been forced to knock Vunlea out to prevent her from coming, Solas had given him a strangely grateful look, they had both experienced losing her and did not intend for it to happen again. He cursed himself as they made their way to their destination, the last functioning catapult. He had actually almost started to believe that he could protect them all, yet he was too much of a coward to show himself for what he truly was. No. He would not just stand by and do _nothing_. They would know him soon. He just hoped to everything they would forgive him for his deceit.

It took little time to clear the trebuchet. Amelan, Varric and Solas worked to keep it clear as Cassandra turned the gears to aim the war machine at the mountains rising above Haven.

“It is aimed, Herald!” Cassandra shouted over the din, before gasping in alarm and pain as an arrow slammed into her shoulder, driving her to her knees. They gathered around her, shielding her from the wave of reinforcements approaching.

In a matter of moments, they were surrounded by a horrific menagerie of what had once been hundreds of Templars. There were simply too many to fight, they could all feel it as they stood defiantly, waiting for the end. Amelan turned, his eyes dark pools of pain as he addressed the group. “I am so sorry to have deceived you. I never meant for this. I pray to Asuryan that you will all forgive me.” He sounded defeated, sorrowful.

They barely had time to process his words before he rose, an invisible weight falling from him as he smiled sadly and activated his armour and sword, runes glowing brightest green in the night and an unnatural green fire erupting from Sunfang. His smile turned into a feral grin as he saluted them with his sword before vanishing in a blast of green energy, reappearing instantly to cut a Templar in half and repeating the process again and again faster than they could blink. Mayhem ensued as the Templars attempted to fight back but in a matter of seconds all but a Behemoth remained. Amelan vanished from his most recent kill before reappearing in a flying leap before the Behemoth, his sword warping in his hand to become a spear, crackling with the same furious green fire as he drove it into the creature’s chest, riding it to the ground where it disintegrated in the heat. All in all, the fight had lasted around seven seconds. Amelan turned to the shocked group, his spear slowly shrinking back into a familiar longsword. He smiled sadly at them, the green light making his face seem cruel and feral in the darkness as a roar echoed in the distance, the beast approached. “Run.” He whispered, somehow still smiling in that small, defiant way. They obeyed him without question, sprinting towards the Chantry.

Amelan turned towards the dragon approaching him, feeling more alive than he had in a very long time and pretending to ignore Solas detaching himself from the fleeing group and turning back to watch.

.     .     .     .     .

The Dread Wolf was not known for a lack of curiosity, and so when the Herald had told them to run he saw an opportunity to see more of the enigma’s power. He slipped into a more comfortable form and hid in the undergrowth near the catapult. It was not _his_ wolf - he did not have the strength to take that form - but it was a comfort to be on four legs again. Solas' attention was drawn to the Herald again as he dove with preternatural grace away from a blast of corrupted fire and rose to his full height, facing the corrupted dragon as it crashed to the ground before him. With a swipe of one colossal claw _Vun'av'inga_ was swept from the Herald's grasp and he raised his arms before him as the dragon drew a deep, rattling breath. A great plume of red Lyrium fire poured from the dragon’s maw and hit a shimmering barrier of raw magic as it came into contact with the gauntlets.

Once the flames puttered out the Herald let out a feral snarl and launched himself into the air, arms encircled by eldritch designs as he tore cleanly through a thick wing membrane, the edges of the wound burning as he landed across the other side of the clearing. The dragon roared in agony and the Herald seemed to use the distraction to summon more of his power, sprinting towards his enemy. After several steps, great shimmering wings of magic sprang into being from each shoulder blade and he launched into the air, limbs pulsing with magic. After he had gone several hundred feet up he turned and hurtled like a comet back to Thedas, taking the dragons' massive head in his hands, dragging it through the air with him and slamming it into the stone walls with such force that bones cracked and crunched and the walls reduced to rubble. Landing softly on the corrupted beast’s head the Herald held out a hand and grasped the hilt of _Vun’av’inga_ as it flew back to him. He prepared a mighty strike which, had it met it's mark, would have sliced into the Dragons brain. Instead, the malformed figure of Corypheus emerged from the fire and desperately tried to blast his opponent apart, only succeeding partially. The Herald was thrown from the Dragon's neck and slammed into the wall, the stone actually appearing to crack _around_ the armour. The Herald dropped to the ground, landing softly on one knee. He rose to his feet and strode calmly towards the blighted magister, a barely noticeable limp the only evidence that he had just been slammed into solid rock.

Corypheus fired several more fireballs, trying to replicate his earlier success but found he could not outmatch the Herald’s defenses without the element of surprise. In an attempt to cover his shock the creature began to talk, waxing poetic as it explained a plan more idiotic than anything Solas had ever come up with, and when you could top what _he_ had been planning in the list of idiotic plans you knew you were doomed. His attention was drawn back to the confrontation when the Herald began to rise from the ground, his arms crackling with eldritch light as his eyes began to steam and burn green in a worryingly familiar manner. _No. Nooo. That’s not possible!_ Solas has always suspected that the Herald was a mage, had even thought he might be an ancient after that display of significant power earlier. But the level of magical energy emanating from him now was more than any of the would-be Gods save perhaps Elgar’nan could match. No, even that monster would have paled in comparison to the waves of power pummelling Corypheus to his knees, he was surprised that the creature did not perish there and then but he supposed that its power could not be underestimated. It had, after all, survived unlocking his orb. Solas began to think it might just be time to leave the Herald to it.

.     .     .     .     .

Corypheus was certainly much more clichéd and inept when you knew he was basically just a corrupted scavenger. Feasting upon the remnants of Elvhenan, the entirety of his power was derived from his quite spectacular failure to breach the Golden City. Amelan mused on this as he pointedly ignored the fool’s prattling and waited for Solas to decide he had heard enough, he had no desire for the elf to get caught up in the coming avalanche. When the mage apparently came to his senses and ran to the chantry - no doubt already coming up with some excuse for his disappearance - Amelan focused back onto Corypheus and considered how to deal with him. He could not outright defeat this creature and its dragon, not yet. Fen’harel’s Orb was too volatile so close to its activation, coupled with any subsequent tampering this idiot magister had inflicted upon it. If Amelan truly challenged it the Orb would shatter, taking most of the mountain range with it and likely opening another breach. He was also not entirely certain he actually _could_ match the Orb at the moment, magic was more sluggish in this world and he had used a great amount of power in the fight against the Templars and the subsequent conflict with that Dragon. He had enough to continue to levitate and look menacing but he would have to risk tearing the veil in order to draw more, and that would _hurt_ later. In any case, the Inquisition was likely now out of the way of an avalanche so the solution was obvious. He let a slow grin spread across his face and the creature’s blustering sputtered to a stop in surprise as Amelan began to speak in a calm but forceful voice, bluffing through his teeth. “If you knew to whom you spoke, you would not remain so self-assured. I have cut down actual gods in my time, you are nothing but a pale shadow of what they were.”

As they spoke the Dragon righted itself and wearily brought it's tail down onto the trebuchet, crushing it. Amelan stared at the destruction before he caught the smile of triumph crossing Corypheus' face. Amelan looked at that smile and drew more power, tearing the veil slightly. _By all the gods I'm going to feel this in the morning._ To keep Corypheus off balance Amelan laughed at him, enjoying the sight of that smile vanishing. “Honestly its just cute if you think I actually _need_ a catapult.” Realisation hit the blighted magister at exactly the same time as Amelan's spell gripped the wounded dragon and flung it at the mountain at the speed of...well, at the speed of a rock thrown by a trebuchet. The Dragon slammed into the mountain and began the avalanche that would bury Haven. Amelan winked at the stunned and fuming ‘God’ - making finger quotes in his mind - and sprinted to the hole in the ground he knew would be there before plummeting into it, knowing he did not have the power remaining to soften his fall as well as keep him warm - he was, quite literally, in a _snowstorm_ \- he winced in anticipation as he sped towards an unfortunately placed set of wooden beams.

.     .     .     .     .

The battered remnants of the Inquisition had made camp as far away from the still burning Haven as they could, once relative safety was assured the bickering began. Those who had gone out with the Herald to the trebuchet quickly filled the advisers and other companions in on what had happened, a shocked silence dropped like a shroud onto them as Varric described Amelan’s revelation and the ease with which he had dispatched hundreds of Red Templars, not even bothering to embellish the story.

“So, wot, e’s a mage then? Who cares? I mean, I don’t _like_ it much, makes the bugger a bit too elfy in my book. But it’s not really somefin’ to get our breeches in a knot about, is it?” Buttercup eloquently spluttered to break the silence. “Heh, _breeches_.” Chuckles looked up incredulously at the still giggling elf.

“It is an issue because he did not tell us. He lied. Who knows what else he has lied to us about?” Varric felt a twinge of guilt at those words, after all hadn’t he done the same and more? He should steer this conversation to a lighter tone, this wasn't doing anybody any good.

“I’m sure Firefly has a good reason for not telling us.” Varric said, trying to mollify the situation. Cassandra furrowed her brows as she thought, completely ignoring him. “Did you hear that God he said he prayed to that we would forgive him? I have never heard of an Asuryan. Solas?”

Chuckles looked thoughtful. “He is not a member of the Elven pantheon, nor any other. I have not heard the name even in the fade.” The answer just made the Seeker’s brows furrow further.

“Then who was he praying to?”

“That question will have to wait until he returns.” They had never once considered the possibility that the Herald would not return, not after the carnage they had witnessed him perform.

They sat in contemplative silence - except for Buttercup, she was still giggling about breeches - for a long while before Vunlea spoke. The young dreamer had been silent throughout the discussion, hadn't spoken much since Firefly was forced to knock her out to keep her away from what had all the hallmarks of being a last stand. It wasn't until now that Varric realised he hadn't given her a nickname. This was unlike him. Maybe Sunshine? Hadn’t Firefly mentioned at some point that her name meant Sunlight or some shit in Elf. That fit her personality at least. He'd have to try it out at some point. He was so distracted by his own thought processes that he almost missed...Sunshine's words.

“I knew.” It was barely a whisper but no-one misheard. They looked at her in disbelief. She wiped her red-rimmed eyes as she continued. “He saved my life, and my mother. He taught me to control my power while we travelled to the Conclave. When we got there, he set us up in a little cottage in Haven and made us promise not to tell anyone about his magic. He said it was stronger than the people here knew and that they wouldn’t understand. I think he was just trying to figure out when to tell you all.” And _that_ on its own might have disarmed the argument, possibly save Curly, who was still fuming. Unfortunately, Sparkler and Nightingale chose exactly that point to point out that _they_ had known as well. Varric thought poor Curly might actually implode.

“Did none of you think to actually _share_ this world changing information?! Leliana, it is quite literally your _job_ to find things out and - here's the important part, in case you were wondering – _actually tell us about it!_ ” The Nightingale narrowed her eyes, cheeks flushing slightly.

“I will not be chastised like a child. I was aware of the Herald's secret only because I discovered it by accident. I subsequently confronted him on the matter and was satisfied with the answers he gave me.”

“Which were?”

“Between _us_ I should think.” Cullen stared at her in disbelief before giving in and turning to  point a shaking finger at Sparkler who, seriously misjudging the situation, coyly twirled his moustache.

“Ah, my turn for an interrogation, is it? How delightful. I have the whips and chains somewhere around here...” He was cut off by an infuriated Curly.

“Do not evade the question. _Explain how_ _you_ _knew_ , **_Mage_**.”

I _do_ have a name you know, **_Templar_**. See, it's not fun to be reduced to a label is it? As I was just about to say before I was so rudely interrupted. I discovered our charming saviour's secret in the future Vunlea and I experienced in Redcliffe. I have only known since then.”

“And why did you not _say something_!” The Commander was becoming practically apoplectic at this point. Dorian didn't back down, anger of his own surfacing.

“Because I think after all he has done for us he has earned at least that much!” He turned to the others. “Is there not a single _one_ of you he has not saved somehow. Even before tonight that elf has _bled_ for you people! I have not even been amongst you for long and even I know that! I think _that_ earns him at least a chance to _explain himself_.”

They sat there in silence again then - though a slightly less hostile one - before an alarm sounded from the top of the valley. Their eyes all snapped to the small opening where they saw several scouts carrying the unmistakable form of the Herald down the hill.

When they drew close Chuckles noticed the unnatural white pallor of the elf’s skin and rushed to his side, checking for a pulse. “He lives.” He whispered. “He seems to have walked the entire way.”

“Didn’t we see him quite literally _TELEPORT_ earlier?” Varric mumbled.

“I suspect that whatever he confronted took a great deal of power to fight off, he likely did not have much left for more trivial things” Chuckles snapped, directing the scouts to take their Herald into the tent they had allocated for him.

“What, like _living_?!”

Chuckles silenced him with a glare before following Curly into the Herald’s tent and began to heal their fallen protector. Sparkler and Vivienne both entered shortly after he had begun and lent their power as they struggled to remove his still glowing armour in order to and repair several broken ribs and a shattered pelvis. Varric quietly marvelled at the Herald’s pain resistance, that he had actually _walked through a snowstorm_ with a _shattered pelvis and broken ribs_! It took several hours to mend the damage and the three mages were obviously exhausted as they shuffled outside to announce that the Herald would live. The cheers shook the mountain.

Varric thought he should probably start writing all this down.

.     .     .     .     .

As Amelan suffered through his nightly nightmare he ran over the fact that he had basically just painted a sign over his head saying ‘Look at me using practically God-like amounts of power! I’m totally a normal person and have never lied to you!’. He considered what he would tell them. Not too much, that would just cause unease and confusion. Yes, he would tell them of his previous world but not of Jason’s, they wouldn't understand the entire truth and just _one_ other world was probably enough for them to be dealing with. It had been hard for _him_ to come to terms with at first and he'd been from a culture that no longer burned people at the stake for heresy. _At least not in public_ , he thought bitterly. Conclusion reached, he waited for the tell-tale sign of Fen’harel’s prodding at his dream space. As he waited he absently wondered how Vunlea would react to the revelation. She had known he was a mage but not that he was from another world. He was surprised and not a little alarmed at how dearly he hoped she would forgive him for his deceptions.

.     .     .     .     .

When Solas slept that night he sought out the Herald's mind in the fade again, at this point it was simply a reflex motion since he did not expect to be allowed to enter. It was testament to the stress that the Hera- _no, Amelan, if anyone deserves such a name, it is him-_ had been through that night that the solid, impenetrable walls which usually guarded his dream space were nowhere to be found. Solas found himself standing at the edge of a colossal city, a moat of Lava at his back. The entire place appeared to be empty, of anything _living_ at any rate. There were corpses scattered everywhere, most unmistakably Elvhen clad in glittering scales and plate armour, faces twisted into expressions of pain and horror. The other corpses were definitely human, or at least in part. Confused and not a little alarmed at the _scale_ of the dream, Solas made his way to the centre of the deserted city, to the towering fortress brooding over everything, certain he would find his answer there. He passed more and more bodies before coming to the entrance of the fortress, the gates of which had been wrenched off and crumpled. There were two colossal corpses to either side of the massive portal, one looked like an extremely overgrown pride demon, a great rent in its chest and its eyes still locked with those of its opponent, a Dragon. Majestic even in death the Dragon was at least double the size of _any_ Dragon Solas had ever seen in Thedas. It had apparently died killing the beast opposite, though that had obviously not been enough to stop the carnage, if the corpses inside the gate were anything to go by.

Before long Solas found himself in a long vaulted throne room filled with more mutilated bodies. The most wonderful tree he had ever seen sat in the centre of the room, wildflowers and grass seeming to have miraculously grown out of the solid stone flooring around it. Something moved at the end of the room and his eyes snapped to it, and he stared. He stared at the elf reclining on the throne, a look of intense pain on Amelan's usually calm face. Solas knew that look, he knew that guilt. He wondered, not for the first time, just where this elf who had named himself protector _came_ from? His train of thought was derailed when Amelan met his eyes and spoke softly, his voice still booming through the empty halls.

“Welcome, betrayer of Gods.” _Panic_. Sheer unbridled **_panic_**. _What does he know. What does he know. He **can't** know._ He was almost too distracted to hear the rest of the speech. Amelan gave him a knowing look and smiled grimly before continuing. “Welcome to the halls of Caledor the first, Dragon King of Ulthuan. We have much to discuss, but not here, not now. You stayed. You saw." It was not a question. _How could he know? Surely the dread wolf had not been outdone so easily?_ Solas shrugged, showing a calm he did not feel.

"I am unsure as to what I am supposed to have seen." he said.

“Do not lie to me, it matters little now. I will tell them the truth once I wake.”

“And what exactly _is_ the truth?”

“You will find out alongside the others, you just needed to see this. See my pain. My loss. You had to _understand_. Now **wake up**.”

As Fen’harel was banished from the dream Amelan ponderously rose to his feet, slowly walking to the great tree that stood where _she_ had fallen. His Star. His _life._ His _Queen._ A shaking hand hesitated before touching the cool bark. He breathed in the scent of wildflowers. It still smelled of her even after all of these years. He took in a shuddering breath.

“Give me strength Ellie. I think I’ll need it this time.”


	14. Still Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this one, hit a major block for some reason and just couldn't find the motivation to write more than like a line at a time. We see quite a lot of more of Amelan's life in Warhammer here, it started as just a simple dream sequence but just spun out of control from there. FYI some serious shit goes down here, it's not nice and I didn't like writing it but it was the best way to go with this particular arc that I could see so I'm kinda torn. But at least Bull is here at last! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

 

The Boss hadn’t woken up that first morning, even after they'd all decided to give him a chance to explain himself. He didn't even wake up the second day, the lazy bastard. It worried The Iron Bull, he could see clearly that the elf was the right one to lead this motley band, if he didn't wake up they were definitely in the shit. Not that he didn't disapprove of all the magic, but at the same time he struggled to find anything actually _wrong_ with it. He knew what the Qun said about all that but it had become harder lately to believe the twisted mutterings of senile old men. Before he'd formed the Chargers the only Mages he'd ever seen were Sareebas, and they were never ones for chatting. Now though, he'd met quite a few Mages, fucked most of 'em too. Far as he could see they were just people. People who could be on fire between the sheets in a whole new way, but still just people. Maybe the Qun had it wrong? Shit, if the other Ben Hassrath could see the crap going on in his head they’d shut him down for sure. And bloody Solas'd have a field day. It was both a relief and a reminder of the volatility of the elf they had placed all their hopes on that, on the third day, their saviour exploded.

.     .     .     .     .

_As Amelan woke from his dream he....no. What is he thinking? His name is Jason, he is fighting for his life. How can he have forgotten that? Chaos and death surrounds him, the lifeless faces of friends and brothers in arms stare up at him. Jason’s blade flashes out to the side, decapitating a demon unfortunate enough to scale that section of the walls. Magic flared everywhere, both the good and the bad kinds. Most of it was emanating from Jason though there were some other small specks of power dotted across the walls and in the plains. Blood coated his armour and blade and sweat covered his face beneath the great sweeping helmet he wore. To his side he spotted Aenarion cleaving through their enemies, their bodies tumbling down from the curtain walls of Tor Caled into the fiery moat below. They exchanged feral grins and continued their bloody work. For several hours they fought, darting around the swipes of corrupted claws and overpowering mighty demons. The forces that were arrayed against them seemed to have no end, there were filthy human marauders and misshapen, corrupted demons as well as unnaturally bulky warriors in full, glowing black plate. Those that stood in their way seemed paltry in comparison, slight elves in glimmering mail and stout dwarves in grounded gromril._

_Lights, flashes and roars echoed down from the heavens where the battle for supremacy raged between the noble dragons and their corrupted brethren. Jason felt the battle fever of his bonded dragon, Indraugnir. He felt the rage emanating from the ancient being as he was forced to kill those who had once been dragons. As he fought, Jason’s mind drifted, a piece coming loose from his body, darting through the city to check on the progress of the battle. It was the first true battle they had fought with this enemy, the warp gates having only been corrupted for two hundred years. But they were prepared. Relieved that none of the gates or walls had apparently fallen, Jason allowed himself a quick look at the infirmary, just to check. And there she was, shining in the twin moonlight like the shard of a goddess she was. It had been futile to expect her to stay in the safety of the palace, it was not in her nature to shy away from danger. She was elbow deep in the wound of a Dragon, pouring healing magic to stop the haemorrhage and to drive away corruption. Upon closer inspection Jason recognised the glittering scales belonging to the mighty Galrauch. She was scolding him for attacking a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch alone, nearly resulting in his death. Only she could chastise a Star Dragon and have the colossal creature actually look embarrassed._

_After more deaths than Jason could count their enemies' numbers started to ebb and it became clear that the battle was won. Jason was exhausted. In all his seven hundred years on this world he couldn't remember being this **tired.** Aenarion clapped him on the shoulder and spoke some words to him he couldn't hear, the world seemed to have been muffled. Aenarion looked at him closer, brows farrowing._

_“Caledor? Are you well, my friend?” His tone was concerned, and there was that **name** again. The one that wasn't truly his and yet felt more right that anything ever had. Some part of him felt saddened at this loss of identity. Jason had even forgotten his own name twice already in his time here, having to refer to his journals to remind himself and feeling like he had lost something intrinsic to his very being each time. He looked at Aenarion, fighting to appear normal, calm. _

_“I'm fine, just need to rest. I have fought in battles before, but none so bloody. I think it has drained me.” His greatest friend gave him a sad and knowing smile, telling Caled...no! **Jason** that his story was not in the slightest bit believed but that it was being allowed to slide...for now. They walked slowly back to the palace, nodding to the elves that passed them, on their ways to shoring up the walls, ready for the next attack. Jason hadn't realised that his mere presence here would change the original order of things but it had. Chaos hadn't attacked Nagarythe first. Not like it did in all the books. No. It had focused itself on Tor Caled. His homeland. Because it had apparently sensed him coming here all those years ago. He had brought this death here and each loss crushed another small piece of him. Weakened his resolve. But he would wait, now was not the time. The forces of Chaos would need to be committed fully before he could create the Vortex, the swirling mass of magic to drain Chaos from the world and cleanse it. The idea had been the original Caledor's of course, Jason had simply made a few adjustments, like the extremely vital one of him surviving it's creation.._

_As they neared the palace a small form appeared from a dark crevice and barrelled into Jason, then another. He fell, chuckling, as his children sat atop his prone form and peppered him with questions about the battle while Aenarion directed a bemused but warm smile down at them all. Tyrion was in awe, asking over and over how many heroic feats Jason had performed. Ellana, on the other hand, shushed her brother and stared at her father with wide intelligent eyes. She smiled sadly and hugged Jason, seemingly unaware of the blood and ichor that covered him._

_“I'm sorry they hurt you, Father.” She said mournfully. Even at six she was wise. And kind. And beautiful. She was everything, really. Everything good, anyway._

_It was a dream, he'd lived too long with the grief to have forgotten for too long, but there was bittersweet joy in the time it had taken him to remember, even if it was a short time. A piece of metal clanged in the distance, startling him. By the time he had gathered himself the world around him had changed dramatically. The besieged city was replaced by a series of worn tunnels. At the sight of the hauntingly familiar jagged walls he crumpled inside. Even his cruellest dreams in this broken world had not forced him to relive this. No. Not again. He couldn't do it again._

_A scream echoed from the dark recesses of the cave, agonised and raw. Without conscious thought Jason was moving, sprinting through the halls and desperately trying to find her. When he reached the room the screams were emanating from he nearly fell to his knees. She was older now, blood covered golden hair streaming down her shoulders and gaping bloody holes where her eyes and nose should have been. Completely naked, every inch of her had been abused and mutilated. Blood coated the rough stone floor. At his sudden entrance the elves inserting metal rods into her abdomen looked up, startled and reached for their weapons. They and comrades scattered throughout the room charged in from all sides and threw spell after spell at him. His hands danced in intricate patterns too fast for the mortal eye to see and shimmering barriers appeared around him, shielding him from his attackers. Without missing a beat he switched to the offensive and his assailants died in the most horrific and imaginative ways he could think of in his despair driven rage. Several just exploded, one was torn into exactly seventy-three pieces, three had their faces melted off and many more died in agony as the magic in their blood boiled.._

_After the screams died down all that could be heard in the suddenly empty room was broken whimpering. Jason ran to her, lowering himself to the floor, placing a hand to either side of her mutilated face and forcing so much healing magic into her that he felt weak, it wasn't enough. No! Why was there not enough! What was the **fucking point** of saving the world if it cost this! There wasn't enough power to save her, the fucking vortex had drained him of it. No, this can't be it. No. She stirred as some of her wounds began to clot and stitch together and her mouth opened in a pained rasp. She spoke slowly, racking coughs accompanying every few words. “It...won't work, Dad. I’m....too far gone.” She stared up at him, seeming to see him despite how clear it was that she shouldn't be able to. She smiled, somehow that made it all so much worse. “You came.” Bloody tears were welling around her sockets and her breathing became laboured._

_“I was too late, far too late. This is all my fault.” She just smiled weakly and pressed a bloody hand to his face. “......No. You did....not do this. **He did this**.....end it, Father. I won't....give him the satis...faction of my death at his hands.” Jason looked at her silently for several seconds, tears streaming down his face, his normally towering presence folding in on itself, “As you wish, daughter of my heart.” He lowered his brow to hers, hyperventilating slightly as he pressed a gauntleted hand to her chest and recited the old words between deep shuddering breaths. They were simple, and older than even he. “Sleep, daughter of the Asur. Sleep, and know you are loved. You will be mourned. You **will** be avenged.”_

_Slowly, reverently, Jason let the magic seep through his fingers and into his daughter’s heart. It took such a small shock to stop it, her breathing hitched, then ceased. He shakily withdrew his hand and brought her limp body close. Still with his brow touching hers, Jason looked down into the empty face and said quietly, “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”_

_In his head, she was still screaming._

_.     .     .     .     ._

Amelan ripped himself from the dream, tears streaming down his face and an inhuman scream of rage and loss passing his lips. Light flared and energy erupted from his body, burning a great rent in the small tent he was in. He struggled for a second to remember where he was, _who_ he was. The dream had been so _vivid_.

“You do it to yourself. Force yourself to feel the pain because it's all you have left. Searching, always searching. But never finding what you lost. Never finding a _reason to stop._ ” Amelan started at the voice, turning to see a thin boy rocking on the ground and staring up at him, muttering to himself. He gave Amelan a confused look. “They're still here though, can't you see them? You kept them safe through all the ages, in your mind. The only one that remembered, the only one that cared. The only one. Alone, always alone.” He tilted his head, like a quizzical bird. “But you aren't alone, not anymore.” His words sounded so final that Amelan almost allowed himself to believe them. Before he could even think up a response the boy was gone, swallowed into the night, his voice replaced by the sounds of panicked scurrying coming his direction. Before they could arrive he was once again traversing the Fade.

It was several days before he woke again, weaker than he had ever been before. He must have healed enough to be mobile at least. With a grimace of pain he levered himself upright and looked around at the bare tent walls and sodden ground. Everything ached, some a symptom of the battle, some from slamming into a heavy wooden beam in full plate armour. Most of it, however, came in the form of a colossal splitting headache, the results of tearing the veil to draw more power than he ought to have. A feat which would not have been possible for a lesser mage, and as far as Amelan was concerned it was beyond _him_ as well from now on. He was absolutely _never doing that again_. With a resigned sigh he flopped back down onto the relatively warm and dry bed and stared up at the hole in the roof of the tent. His dreams after the first had been relatively uneventful, delving a little into his memories but only the happy ones. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it but he felt like there was an external force keeping the nightmares at bay, it was just a feeling in the back of his head but it gave him some small comfort. Some small part of him allowed itself to hope that things might actually get, if not better, then at least not worse.


End file.
